OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


The  Lure  of  tKe  Dim  Trails 


Out  where  the  trails  of  men  are  dim  and  far  apart. 

Frontispiece 


Page  5 


The 

Lure  of  the  Dim  Trails 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER 

Author  of  "Chip  of  the  Flying  U,"  "The  Range  Dwellers," 
"Her  Prairie  Knight,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  C  M.  RUSSELL 


G.  W.  D1LL1NGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFO 
nAVIS 


Copyright,  7907,  by  G,  W.  Dillingham  Co. 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall. 
Issued  October,  1907. 


The  Lure  of  the 
Dim  Trails. 


TO 

THE  MEN  WHO  HAVE  FELT  THE  LURE 

AND  FOLLOWED 
THE  DIM  TRAILS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  WESTERN  TONE  .       1 

II. — LOCAL  COLOR  IN  THE  RAW           .  .      14 

III. — FIRST  IMPRESSIONS      .         .         .  .32 

IV. — THE  TRAIL-HERD        .         .         .  .47 

V.— THE  STORM 62 

VI. — THE  BIG  DIVIDE        .         .         .  .81 

VII. — AT  THE  STEVENS  PLACE      .         .  .    100 

VIII. — A  QUESTION  OF  NERVE       .         .  .    124 

IX. — THE  DRIFT  OF  THE  HERDS  .      '  ,  .    139 

X.— THE   CHINOOK  .         .         .        *.  .  .    161 

XI. — FOLLOWING  THE  DIM  TRAILS       .  .    170 

XII.— HIGH  WATER 183 

XIII.— "I'LL  STAY— ALWAYS"  .   198 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Out  where  the  trails  of  men  are  dim  and  far 

apart.  Frontispiece  .  ,  .  5 

A  rifle  cracked,  and  Bob  toppled  limply  to  the 

grass  .  .  .  ....  95 

Thurston  held  Mona  somewhat  tighter  than  he 

need  to  have  done  ,  .  204 


The  Lure  of  the  Dim  Trails 

CHAPTER   I 

IN   SEARCH  OF  THE  WESTERN   TONE 


HAT  do  you  care,  anyway? " 
asked  Reeve-Howard  philo 
sophically.  "  It  isn't  as  if 
you  depended  on  the  work 
for  a  living.  Why  worry  over  the  fact 
that  a  mere  pastime  fails  to  be  financially 

a  success.    You  don't  need  to  write " 

"Neither  do  you  need  to  slave  over 
those  dry-point  things,"  Thurston  re 
torted,  in  none  the  best  humor  with  his 
comforter.  "  You've  an  income  bigger 
than  mine;  yet  you  toil  over  Grecian- 


2  The  Lure  of 

nosed  women  with  untidy  hair  as  if  each 
one  meant  a  meal  and  a  bed " 

"A  meal  and  a  bed — that's  good;  you 
must  think  I  live  like  a  king." 

" — And  I  notice  you  hate  like  the 
mischief  to  fail,  even  though " 

"  Only  I  never  have  failed,"  put  in 
Reeve-Howard,  with  the  amused  com 
placency  born  of  much  adulation. 

Thurston  kicked  a  foot-rest  out  of  his 
way.  "  Well,  I  have.  The  fashion  now 
is  for  swashbuckling  tales  with  a  haze 
of  powder  smoke  rising  to  high  heaven. 
The  public  taste  runs  to  gore  and  more 
gore,  and  kidnappings  of  beautiful 
maidens — bah!" 

"Follow  the  fashion  then — if  you 
must  write.  Get  out  of  your  pink  tea 
and  orchid  atmosphere,  and  take  your 
heroines  out  West — away  out,  beyond 
the  Mississippi,  and  let  them  be  kid 
napped.  Or  New  Mexico  would  do." 


the  Dim  Trails  3 

"  New  Mexico  is  also  beyond  the  Mis 
sissippi,  I  believe,"  Thurston  hinted. 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  What  I  mean  is,  write 
what  the  public  wants,  since  you  don't 
relish  failure.  Why  don't  you  do  things 
about  the  plains?  It  ought  to  be  easy, 
and  you  were  born  out  there  somewhere. 
It  should  come  natural." 

"I  have,"  Thurston  sighed.  "My 
last  rejection  states  that  the  local  color 
is  weak  and  unconvincing.  Hang  the 
local  color!"  The  foot-rest  suffered 
again. 

Reeve-Howard  was  getting  into  his 
topcoat  languidly,  as  he  did  everything 
else.  "The  thing  to  do,  then,"  he 
drawled,  "is  to  go  out  and  study  up  on 
it.  Get  in  touch  with  that  country,  and 
your  local  color  will  convince.  Person 
ally  though,  I  like  those  little  society  skits 
you  do " 

"Skits!"  exploded  Thurston.     "My 


4  The  Lure  of 

last  was  a  four-part  serial.  I  never  did 
a  skit  in  my  life." 

"  Beg  pardon — which  is  more  than  you 
did  after  accusing  my  studies  of  having 
untidy  hair.  Don't  look  so  glum,  Phil. 
Go  out  and  learn  your  West;  a  month 
or  so  will  put  you  up  to  date — and  by 
Jove!  I  half  envy  you  the  trip." 

That  is  what  put  the  idea  into  Thurs- 
ton's  head;  and  as  Thurston's  ideas  gen 
erally  bore  fruit  of  one  sort  or  another, 
he  went  out  that  very  day  and  ordered 
from  his  tailor  a  complete  riding  outfit, 
and  because  he  was  a  good  customer  the 
tailor  consented  to  rush  the  work.  It 
seemed  to  Thurston,  looking  over  cuts  of 
the  very  latest  styles  in  riding  clothes, 
that  already  he  was  breathing  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  plains. 

That  night  he  stayed  at  home  and 
dreamed  of  the  West.  His  memory, 
coupled  with  what  he  had  heard  and 


the  Dim  Trails  5 

idealized  by  his  imagination,  conjured 
dim  visions  of  what  he  had  once  known 
— had  known  and  forgotten;  of  a  land 
where  men  and  conditions  harked  back 
to  the  raw  foundations  of  civilization; 
where  wide  plains  flecked  with  sage-brush 
and  ribboned  with  faint,  brown  trails, 
spread  away  and  away  to  a  far  sky-line. 
For  Phil  Thurston  was  range-born,  if 
not  range-bred.  His  father  had  chosen 
always  to  live  out  on  the  edge  of  things 
— out  where  the  trails  of  men  are  dim 
and  far  apart — and  the  silent  prairie  be 
queaths  a  heritage  of  distance-hunger  to 
her  sons. 

While  he  brooded  grew  a  keen  long 
ing  to  see  again  the  little  town  huddled 
under  the  bare,  brown  hills  that  shut  out 
the  world;  to  see  the  gay-blanketed  In 
dians  who  stole  like  painted  shadows 
about  the  place,  and  the  broad  river  al 
ways  hurrying  away  to  the  sunrise.  He 


6  The  Lure  of 

had  been  afraid  of  the  river  and  of  the 
bare  hills  and  the  Indians.  He  felt  that 
his  mother,  also,  had  been  afraid. 

He  pictured  again — and  the  picture 
was  blurred  and  indistinct — the  day  when 
strange  men  had  brought  his  father  mys 
teriously  home;  men  who  were  silent  save 
for  the  shuffling  of  their  feet,  and  who 
carried  their  big  hats  awkwardly  in  their 
hands.  There  had  been  a  day  of  hushed 
voices  and  much  weeping  and  gloom,  and 
he  had  been  afraid  to  play.  Then  they 
had  carried  his  father  as  mysteriously 
away  again,  and  his  mother  had  hugged 
him  close  and  cried  bitterly  and  long. 
The  rest  was  blank.  When  one  is  only 
five,  the  present  quickly  blurs  what  is 
past,  and  he  wondered  that,  after  all 
these  years,  he  should  feel  the  grip  of 
something  very  like  homesickness — and 
for  something  more  than  half  forgotten. 
But  though  he  did  not  realize  it,  in  his 


the  Dim  Trails  7 

veins  flowed  the  adventurous  blood  of 
his  father,  and  to  it  the  dim  trails  were 
calling. 

In  four  days  he  set  his  face  eagerly  to 
ward  the  dun  deserts  and  the  sage-brush 
gray. 

At  Chicago  a  man  took  the  upper  berth 
in  Thurston's  section,  and  settled  into  the 
seat  with  a  deep  sigh — presumably  of 
thankfulness.  Thurston,  with  the  quick 
eye  of  those  who  write,  observed  the 
whiteness  of  his  ungloved  hands,  the 
coppery  tan  of  cheeks  and  throat,  the 
clear  keenness  of  his  eyes,  and  the  four 
dimples  in  the  crown  of  his  soft,  gray 
hat,  and  recognized  him  as  a  fine  speci 
men  of  the  Western  type  of  farmer,  re 
turning  home  from  the  stockman's  Mecca. 
After  that  he  went  calmly  back  to  his 
magazine  and  forgot  all  about  him. 

Twenty  miles  out,  the  stranger  leaned 
forward  and  tapped  him  lightly  on  the 


8  The  Lure  of 

knee.  "  Say,  I  hate  to  interrupt  yuh," 
he  began  in  a  whimsical  drawl,  evidently 
characteristic  of  the  man,  "  but  I'd  like 
to  know  where  it  is  I've  seen  yuh  before." 

Thurston  glanced  up  impersonally, 
hesitated  between  annoyance  and  a  natu 
ral  desire  to  be  courteous,  and  replied 
that  he  had  no  memory  of  any  previous 
meeting. 

"  Mebby  not,"  admitted  the  other,  and 
searched  the  face  of  Thurston  with  his 
keen  eyes.  It  came  to  Phil  that  they 
were  also  a  bit  wistful,  but  he  went  un- 
sympathetically  back  to  his  reading. 

Five  miles  more  and  he  touched  Thurs 
ton  again,  apologetically  yet  insistently. 
"  Say,"  he  drawled,  "  ain't  your  name 
Thurston?  I'll  bet  a  carload  uh  steers 
it  is — Bud  Thurston.  And  your  home 
range  is  Fort  Benton." 

Phil  stared  and  confessed  to  all  but 
the  "  Bud." 


the  Dim  Trails  9 

"  That's  what  me  and  your  dad  al 
ways  called  yuh,"  the  man  asserted. 
"Well,  I'll  be  hanged!  But  I  knew  it 
— I  knew  I'd  run  acrost  yuh  somewheres. 
You're  the  dead  image  uh  your  dad,  Bill 
Thurston.  And  me  and  Bill  freighted 
together  from  Whoop-up  to  Benton 
along  in  the  seventies.  Befor  yuh  was 
born  we  was  chums.  I  don't  reckon 
you'd  remember  me?  Hank  Graves, 
that  used  to  pack  yuh  around  on  his 
back,  and  fill  yuh  up  on  dried  prunes — 
when  dried  prunes  was  worth  money? 
Yuh  used  to  call  'em  '  frumes,'  and — 
Why,  it  was  me  with  your  dad  when  the 
Indians  pot-shot  him  at  Chimney  Rock; 
and  it  was  me  helped  your  mother 
straighten  things  up  so  she  could  pull 
out,  back  where  she  come  from.  She 
never  took  to  the  West  much.  How  is 
she?  Dead?  Too  bad;  she  was  a  mighty 
fine  woman,  your  mother  was. 


10  The  Lure  of 

"  Well,  I'll— be— hanged !  Bud  Thurs- 
ton — little,  tow-headed  Bud  that  used  to 
holler  for  c  f rumes '  if  he  seen  me  com 
ing  a  mile  off.  Doggone  your  measly 
hide,  where's  all  them  pink  apurns  yuh 
used  to  wear? "  He  leaned  back  and 
laughed — a  silent,  inner  convulsion  of 
pure  gladness. 

Philip  Thurston  was,  generally  speak 
ing,  a  conservative  young  man  and  one 
slow  to  make  friends;  slower  still  to  dis 
card  them.  He  was  astonished  to  feel  a 
choky  sensation  in  his  throat  and  a  sting 
ing  of  eyelids,  and  a  leap  in  his  blood. 
To  be  thus  taken  possession  of  by  a 
blunt-speaking  stranger  not  at  all  in  his 
class;  to  be  addressed  as  "Bud,"  and 
informed  that  he  once  devoured  dried 
prunes;  to  be  told  "Doggone  your 
measly  hide  "  should  have  affronted  him 
much.  Instead,  he  seemed  to  be  swept 
mysteriously  back  into  the  primitive  past, 


the  Dim  Trails  11 

and  to  feel  akin  to  this  stranger  with  the 
drawl  and  the  keen  eyes.  It  was  the 
blood  of  his  father  coming  to  its  own. 

From  that  hour  the  two  were  friends. 
Hank  Graves,  in  his  whimsical  drawl, 
told  Phil  things  about  his  father  that 
made  his  blood  tingle  with  pride;  his 
father,  whom  he  had  almost  forgotten, 
yet  who  had  lived  bravely  his  life,  dar 
ing  where  other  men  quailed,  going 
steadfastly  upon  his  way  when  other 
men  hesitated. 

So,  borne  swiftly  into  the  West  they 
talked,  and  the  time  seemed  short.  The 
train  had  long  since  been  racing  noisily 
over  the  silent  prairies  spread  invitingly 
with  tender  green — great,  lonely,  inscru 
table,  luring  men  with  a  spell  as  sure  and 
as  strong  as  is  the  spell  of  the  sea. 

The  train  reeled  across  a  trestle  that 
spanned  a  deep,  dry  gash  in  the  earth. 
In  the  green  bottom  huddled  a  cluster  of 


12  The  Lure  of 

pygmy  cattle  and  mounted  men;  farther 
down  were  two  white  flakes  of  tents,  like 
huge  snowflakes  left  unmelted  in  the 
green  canyon. 

"  That's  the  Lazy  Eight— my  outfit," 
Graves  informed  Thurston  with  the  un 
conscious  pride  of  possession,  pointing  a 
forefinger  as  they  whirled  on.  "I've  got 
to  get  off,  next  station.  Yuh  want  to 
remember,  Bud,  the  Lazy  Eight's  your 
home  from  now  on.  We'll  make  a  cow- 
puncher  of  yuh  in  no  time;  you've  got 
it  in  yuh,  or  yuh  wouldn't  look  so  much 
like  your  dad.  And  you  can  write  sto 
ries  about  us  all  yuh  want — we  won't 
kick.  The  way  I've  got  the  summer 
planned  out,  you'll  waller  chin-deep  in 
material;  all  yuh  got  to  do  is  f oiler  the 
Lazy  Eight  through  till  shipping  time." 

Thurston  had  not  intended  learning  to 
be  a  cow-puncher,  or  following  the  Lazy 
Eight  or  any  other  hieroglyphic  through 


the  Dim  Trails  13 

till  shipping  time — whenever  that  was. 
But,  facing  Hank  Graves,  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  tell  him  so,  or  that  he  had 
planned  to  spend  only  a  month — or  six 
weeks  at  most — in  the  West,  gathering 
local  color  and  perhaps  a  plot  or  two  and 
a  few  types.  Thurston  was  great  on 
types. 

The  train  slowed  at  a  little  station  with 
a  dismal  red  section  house  in  the  imme 
diate  background  and  a  red-fronted  sa 
loon  close  beside.  "  Here  we  are,"  cried 
Graves,  "  and  I  ain't  sorry;  only  I  wisht 
you  was  going  to  stop  right  now.  But 
I'll  look  for  yuh  in  three  or  four  days 
at  the  outside.  So-long,  Bud.  Remem 
ber,  the  Lazy  Eight's  your  hang-out." 


14  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER   II 

LOCAL  COLOR  IN  THE  RAW 

OR  the  rest  of  the  way  Thurs- 
ton  watched  the  green  hills 
slide  by — and  the  greener 
hollows — and  gave  himself 
up  to  visions  of  Fort  Benton;  visions  of 
creaking  bull-trains  crawling  slowly,  like 
giant  brown  worms,  up  and  down  the 
long  hill;  of  many  high-piled  bales  of 
buffalo  hides  upon  the  river  bank,  and 
clamorous  little  steamers  churning  up 
against  the  current;  the  Fort  Benton  that 
had,  for  many  rushing  miles,  filled  and 
colored  the  speech  of  Hank  Graves  and 
stimulated  his  childish  half -memory. 


the  Dim  Trails  15 

But  when  he  reached  the  place  and 
wandered  aimlessly  about  the  streets,  the 
vision  faded  into  half -resentful  realiza 
tion  that  these  things  were  no  more  for 
ever.  For  the  bull-trains,  a  roundup 
outfit  clattered  noisily  out  of  town  and 
disappeared  in  an  elusive  dust-cloud;  for 
the  gay-blanketed  Indians  slipping  like 
painted  shadows  from  view,  stray  cow 
boys  galloped  into  town,  slid  from 
their  saddles  and  clanked  with  drag 
ging  rowels  into  the  nearest  saloon,  or 
the  post-office.  Between  whiles  the  town 
cuddled  luxuriously  down  in  the  deep 
little  valley  and  slept  while  the  river, 
undisturbed  by  pompous  steamers,  mur 
mured  a  lullaby. 

It  was  not  the  Fort  Benton  he  had 
come  far  to  see,  so  that  on  the  second 
day  he  went  away  up  the  long  hill  that 
shut  out  the  world  and,  until  the  east- 
bound  train  came  from  over  the  prairies, 


16  The  Lure  of 

paced  the  depot  platform  impatiently 
with  never  a  vision  to  keep  him  company. 
For  a  long  time  the  gaze  of  Thurston 
clung  fascinated  to  the  wide  prairie  land, 
feeling  again  the  stir  in  his  blood.  Then, 
when  a  deep  cut  shut  from  him  the  sight 
of  the  wilderness,  he  chanced  to  turn  his 
head,  and  looked  straight  into  the  clear, 
blue-gray  eyes  of  a  girl  across  the  aisle. 
Thurston  considered  himself  immune 
from  blue-gray — or  any  other — eyes,  so 
that  he  permitted  himself  to  regard  her 
calmly  and  judicially,  his  mind  revert 
ing  to  the  fact  that  he  would  need  a 
heroine  to  be  kidnapped,  and  wondering 
if  she  would  do.  She  was  a  Western 
girl,  he  could  tell  that  by  the  tan  and 
by  her  various  little  departures  from  the 
Eastern  styles — such  as  doing  her  hair 
low  rather  than  high.  Where  he  had 
been  used  to  seeing  the  hair  of  woman 
piled  high  and  skewered  with  many 


the  Dim  Trails  17 

pins,  hers  was  brushed  smoothly  back — 
smoothly  save  for  little,  irresponsible 
waves  here  and  there.  Thurston  decided 
that  the  style  was'  becoming  to  her.  He 
wondered  if  the  fellow  beside  her  were 
her  brother;  and  then  reminded  himself 
sagely  that  brothers  do  not,  as  a  rule,  de 
vote  their  time  quite  so  assiduously  to  the 
entertainment  of  their  sisters.  He  could 
not  stare  at  her  forever,  and  so  he  gave 
over  his  speculations  and  went  back  to 
the  prairies. 

Another  hour,  and  Thurston  was  sti 
fling  a  yawn  when  the  coaches  bumped 
sharply  together  and,  with  wheels  screech 
ing  protest  as  the  brakes  clutched  them, 
the  train,  grinding  protest  in  every  joint, 
came,  with  a  final  heavy  jar,  to  a  dead 
stop.  Thurston  thought  it  was  a  wreck, 
until  out  ahead  came  the  sharp  crack 
ling  of  rifles.  A  passenger  behind  him 
leaned  out  of  the  window  and  a  bullet 


18  The  Lure  of 

shattered  the  glass  above  his  head;  he 
drew  back  hastily. 

Some  one  hurried  through  the  front 
vestibule,  the  door  was  pushed  uncere 
moniously  open  and  a  man — a  giant,  he 
seemed  to  Thurston — stopped  just  in 
side,  glared  down  the  length  of  the  coach 
through  slits  in  the  black  cloth  over  his 
face  and  bawled,  "  Hands  up! " 

Thurston  was  so  utterly  surprised  that 
his  hands  jerked  themselves  involuntarily 
above  his  head,  though  he  did  not  feel 
particularly  frightened;  he  was  filled 
with  a  stupefied  sort  of  curiosity  to  know 
what  would  come  next.  The  coach,  so 
far  as  he  could  see,  seemed  filled  with 
uplifted,  trembling  hands,  so  that  he  did 
not  feel  ashamed  of  his  own.  The  man 
behind  him  put  up  his  hands  with  the 
others — but  one  of  them  held  a  revolver 
that  barked  savagely  and  unexpectedly 
close  against  the  ear  of  Thurston. 


the  Dim  Trails 


19 


Thurston  ducked.  There  was  an  echo 
from  the  front,  and  the  man  behind,  who 
had  risked  so  much  on  one  shot,  lurched 
into  the  aisle,  swaying  uncertainly  be 
tween  the  seats.  He  of  the  mask  fired 
again,  viciously,  and  the  other  collapsed 
into  a  still,  awkwardly  huddled  heap  on 
the  floor.  The  revolver  dropped  from 
his  fingers  and  struck  against  Thurston's 
foot,  making  him  wince. 

Thurston  had  never  before  seen  death 
come  to  a  man,  and  the  very  suddenness 
of  it  unnerved  him.  All  his  faculties 


20  The  Lure  of 

were  numbed  before  that  terrible,  pitiless 
form  in  the  door,  and  the  limp,  dead  body 
at  his  feet  in  the  aisle.  He  did  not  even 
remember  that  here  was  the  savage  local 
color  he  had  come  far  a-seeking.  He 
quite  forgot  to  improve  the  opportunity 
by  making  mental  note  of  all  the  little, 
convincing  details,  as  was  his  wont. 

Presently  he  awoke  to  the  realization 
of  certain  words  spoken  insistently  close 
beside  him.  He  turned  his  eyes  and  saw 
that  the  girl,  her  eyes  staring  straight 
before  her,  her  slim,  brown  hands  up 
lifted,  was  yet  commanding  him  impe 
riously,  her  voice  holding  to  that  mur 
muring  monotone  morer  discreet  than  a 
whisper. 

"  The  gun — drop  down — and  get  it. 
He  can't  see  to  shoot — for  the  seat — in 
front.  Get  the  gun.  Get  the  gun!" 
was  what  she  was  saying. 

Thurston  looked  at  her  helplessly,  im- 


the  Dim  Trails  21 

ploringly.  In  truth,  he  had  never  fired 
a  gun  in  all  his  peaceful  life. 

"  The  gun— get  it— and  shoot!  "  Her 
eyes  moved  quickly  in  a  cautious,  side 
long  glance  that  commanded  impatiently. 
Her  straight  eyebrows  drew  together  im 
periously.  Then,  when  he  met  her  eyes 
with  that  same  helpless  look,  she  said  an 
other  word  that  hurt.  It  was  "  Coward! " 

Thurston  looked  down  at  the  gun,  and 
at  the  huddled  form.  A  tiny  river  of 
blood  was  creeping  toward  him.  Already 
it  had  reached  his  foot,  and  his  shoe  was 
red  along  the  sole.  He  moved  his  foot 
quickly  away  from  it,  and  shuddered. 

"  Coward! "  murmured  the  girl  con 
temptuously  again,  and  a  splotch  of 
anger  showed  under  the  tan  of  her  cheek. 

Thurston  caught  his  breath  and  won 
dered  if  he  could  do  it;  he  looked  toward 
the  door  and  thought  how  far  it  was  to 
send  a  bullet  straight  when  a  man  has 


22  The  Lure  of 

never,  in  all  his  life,  fired  a  gun.  And 
without  looking  he  could  see  that  hor 
rible,  red  stream  creeping  toward  him 
like  some  monster  in  a  nightmare.  His 
flesh  crimpled  with  physical  repulsion, 
but  he  meant  to  try;  perhaps  he  could 
shoot  the  man  in  the  mask,  so  that  there 
would  be  another  huddled,  lifeless  Thing 
on  the  floor,  and  another  creeping  red 
stream. 

At  that  instant  the  tawny-haired 
young  fellow  beside  the  girl  gathered 
himself  for  a  spring,  flung  himself  head 
long  before  her  and  into  the  aisle;  caught 
the  dead  man's  pistol  from  the  floor  and 
fired,  seemingly  with  one  movement. 
Then  he  sprang  up,  still  firing  as  fast 
as  the  trigger  could  move.  From  the 
door  came  answer,  shot  for  shot,  and  the 
car  was  filled  with  the  stifling  odor  of 
burnt  powder.  A  woman  screamed  hys 
terically. 


the  Dim  Trails  23 

Then  a  puff  of  cool,  prairie  breeze 
came  in  through  the  shattered  window 
behind  Thurston,  and  the  smoke-cloud 
lifted  like  a  curtain  blown  upward  in 
the  wind.  The  tawny-haired  young  fel 
low  was  walking  coolly  down  the  aisle, 
the  smoking  revolver  pointing  like  an 
accusing  finger  toward  the  outlaw  who 
lay  stretched  upon  his  face,  his  fingers 
twitching. 

Outside,  rifles  were  crackling  like  corn 
in  a  giant  popper.  Presently  it  slack 
ened  to  an  occasional  shot.  A  brake- 
man,  followed  by  two  coatless  mail-clerks 
with  Winchesters,  ran  down  the  length 
of  the  train  calling  out  that  there  was 
no  danger.  The  thud  of  their  running 
feet,  and  the  wholesome  mingling  of 
their  shouting  struck  sharply  in  the  si 
lence  after  the  shooting.  One  of  the 
men  swung  up  on  the  steps  of  the  day 
coach  and  came  in. 


\ 


24  The  Lure  of 

"  Hello,  Park,"  he  cried  to  the  tawny- 
haired  boy.  "  Got  one,  did  yuh?  That's 
good.  We  did,  too — got  him  alive. 
Think  uh  the  nerve  uh  that  Wagner 
bunch!  to  go  up  against  a  train  in  broad 
daylight.  Made  an  easy  getaway,  too, 
except  the  feller  we  gloomed  in  the  ex 
press  car.  How's  this  one?  Dead?" 

"  No.  I  reckon  he'll  get  well  enough 
to  stretch  a  rope;  he  killed  a  man,  in 
here."  He  motioned  toward  the  huddled 
figure  in  the  aisle.  They  came  together, 
lifted  the  dead  man  and  carried  him 
away  to  the  baggage  car.  A  brakeman 
came  with  a  cloth  and  wiped  up  the  red 
pool,  and  Thurston  pressed  his  lips 
tightly  together  and  turned  away  his 
head;  he  could  not  remember  when  the 
sight  of  anything  had  made  him  so 
deathly  sick.  Once  he  glanced  slyly  at 
the  girl  opposite,  and  saw  that  she  was 
very  white  under  her  tan,  and  that  the 


the  Dim  Trails  25 

hands  in  her  lap  were  clasped  tightly 
and  yet  shook.  But  she  met  his  eyes 
squarely,  and  Thurston  did  not  look  at 
her  again;  he  did  not  like  the  expression 
of  her  mouth. 

News  of  the  holdup  had  been  tele 
graphed  ahead,  and  all  Shellanne — which 
was  not  much  of  a  crowd — gathered  at 
the  station  to  meet  the  train  and  con 
gratulate  the  heroes.  Thurston  alighted 
almost  shamefacedly  into  the  midst  of 
the  loud-voiced  commotion.  While  he 
was  looking  uncertainly  about  him,  won 
dering  where  to  go  and  what  to  do,  a 
voice  he  knew  hailed  him  with  drawling 
welcome. 

"  Hello,  Bud.  Got  back  quicker  than 
you  expected,  didn't  yuh?  It's  lucky  I 
happened  to  be  in  town — yuh  can  ride 
out  with  me.  Say,  yuh  got  quite  a  bunch 
uh  local  color  for  a  story,  didn't  yuh? 
You'll  be  writing  blood-and-thunder  for 


26  The  Lure  of 

a  month  on  the  strength  uh  this  little 
episode,  I  reckon."  His  twinkling  eyes 
teased,  though  his  face  was  quite  serious, 
as  was  his  voice. 

She  of  the  blue-gray  eyes  turned  and 
measured  Thurston  with  a  deliberate, 
leisurely  glance,  and  her  mouth  still  had 
that  unpleasant  expression.  Thurston 
colored  guiltily,  but  Hank  Graves  lifted 
his  hat  and  called  her  Mona,  and  asked 
her  if  she  wasn't  scared  stiff,  and  if  she 
were  home  to  stay.  Then  he  beckoned 
to  the  tawny-haired  fellow  with  his  fin 
ger,  and  winked  at  Mona — a  proceeding 
which  shocked  Thurston  considerably. 

"  Mona — here,  hold  on  a  minute,  can't 
yuh?  Mona,  this  is  a  friend  uh  mine; 
Bud  Thurston's  his  name.  He's  come 
out  to  study  us  up  and  round  up  a  bunch 
uh  real  Western  atmosphere.  He's  a 
story-writer.  I  used  to  whack  bulls  all 
over  the  country  with  his  father.  Bud, 


the  Dim  Trails  27 

this  is  Mona  Stevens;  she  ranges  down 
close  to  the  Lazy  Eight,  so  the  sooner 
yuh  git  acquainted,  the  quicker."  He 
did  not  explain  what  would  be  the  quicker, 
and  Thurston's  embarrassment  was  only 
aggravated  by  the  introduction. 

•Miss  Stevens  gave  him  a  chilly  smile 
— the  kind  that  is  worse  than  none  at  all 
— and  turned  her  back,  thinly  pretend 
ing  that  she  heard  her  brother  calling  her 
— which  she  did  not.  Her  brother  was 
loudly  explaining  what  would  have  hap 
pened  if  he  had  been  on  that  train  and 
had  got  a  whack  at  the  robbers,  and  his 
sister  was  far  from  his  mind. 

Graves  slapped  the  shoulder  of  the 
fellow  they  had  called  Park.  "You 
young  devil,  next  time  I  leave  the  place 
for  a  week — yes,  or  overnight — I'll  lock 
yuh  up  in  the  blacksmith  shop.  Have 
yah  got  to  be  Mona's  special  escort,  these 
days?" 


28  The  Lure  of 

"Wish  I  was,"  Park  retorted,  un 
moved. 

"Different  here — yuh  ain't  much  ac 
count,  as  it  is.  Bud,  this  here's  my 
wagon-boss,  Park  Holloway;  one  of  'em, 
that  is.  I'm  going  to  turn  yuh  over  to 
him  and  let  him  wise  yuh  up.  Say,  you 
young  bucks  ought  to  get  along  together 
pretty  smooth.  Your  dads  run  buffalo 
together  before  either  of  yuh  was  born. 
Well,  let's  be  moving — we  ain't  home 
yet.  Got  a  war-bag,  Bud? " 

Late  that  night  Thurston  lay  upon  a 
home-made  bed  and  listened  to  the  frogs 
croaking  monotonously  in  the  hollow  be 
hind  the  house,  and  to  the  lone  coyote 
which  harped  upon  the  subject  of  his 
wrongs  away  on  a  distant  hillside,  and 
to  the  subdued  snoring  of  Hank  Graves 
in  the  room  beyond.  He  was  trying  to 
adjust  himself  to  this  new  condition  of 


the  Dim  Trails  29 

things,  and  the  new  condition  refused 
utterly  to  be  measured  by  his  accepted 
standard. 

According  to  that  standard,  he  should 
feel  repulsed  and  annoyed  by  the  fa 
miliarity  of  strangers  who  persisted  in 
calling  him  "Bud"  without  taking  the 
trouble  to  find  out  whether  or  not  he 
liked  it.  And  what  puzzled  Thurston 
and  put  him  all  at  sea  was  the  conscious 
ness  that  he  did  like  it,  and  that  it  struck 
familiarly  upon  his  ears  as  something  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  in  the 
past. 

Also,  according  to  his  well-ordered 
past,  he  should  hate  this  raw  life  and 
rawer  country  where  could  occur  such 
brutal  things  as  he  had  that  day  wit 
nessed.  He  should  dislike  a  man  like 
Park  Holloway  who,  having  wounded  a 
man  unto  death,  had  calmly  dismissed 
the  subject  with  the  regret  that  his  aim 


80  The  Lure  of 

had  not  been  better,  so  that  he  could  have 
saved  the  county  the  expense  of  trying 
and  hanging  the  fellow.  Thurston  was 
amazed  to  find  that,  down  in  the  inner 
man  of  him,  he  admired  Park  Holloway 
exceedingly,  and  privately  resolved  to 
perfect  himself  in  the  use  of  fire-arms 
— he  who  had  been  wont  to  deplore  the 
thinly  veneered  savagery  of  men  who 
liked  such  things. 

After  much  speculation  he  decided 
that  Mona  Stevens  would  not  do  for  a 
kidnapped  heroine.  He  could  not  seem 
to  "  see  "  her  in  such  a  position,  and,  be 
sides,  he  told  himself  that  such  a  type  of 
girl  did  not  attract  him  at  all.  She  had 
called  him  a  coward — and  why?  simply 
because  he,  straight  from  the  trammels 
of  civilization,  had  not  been  prepared  to 
meet  the  situation  thrust  upon  him — 
which  she  had  thrust  upon  him.  She  had 
demanded  of  him  something  he  had  not 


the  Dim  Trails  81 

the  power  to  accomplish,  and  she  had 
called  him  a  coward.  And  in  his  heart 
Thurston  knew  that  it  was  unjust,  and 
that  he  was  not  a  coward. 


32  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER   III 

FIRST   IMPRESSIONS 

[HURSTON,  dressed  immac 
ulately  in  riding  clothes  of 
the  latest  English  cut,  went 
airily  down  the  stairs  and 
discovered  that  he  was  not  early,  as  he 
had  imagined.  Seven  o'clock,  he  had 
told  himself  proudly,  was  not  bad  for  a 
beginner;  and  he  had  smiled  in  anticipa 
tion  of  Hank  Graves'  surprise — which 
was  fortunate,  since  he  would  otherwise 
have  been  cheated  of  smiling  at  all.  For 
Hank  Graves,  he  learned  from  the  cook, 
had  eaten  breakfast  at  five  and  had 
left  the  ranch  more  than  an  hour  be- 


the  Dim  Trails  33 

before;  the  men  also  were  scattered  to 
their  work. 

Properly  humbled  in  spirit,  he  sat  down 
to  the  kitchen  table  and  ate  his  belated 
breakfast,  while  the  cook  kneaded  bread 
at  the  other  end  of  the  same  table  and 
eyed  Thurston  with  frank  amusement. 
Thurston  had  never  before  been  conscious 
of  feeling  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of 
a  servant,  and  hurried  through  the  meal 
so  that  he  could  escape  into  the  clear 
sunshine,  feeling  a  bit  foolish  in  the 
unaccustomed  bagginess  of  his  riding 
breeches  and  the  snugness  of  his  leg 
gings;  for  he  had  never  taken  to  out 
door  sports,  except  as  an  onlooker  from 
the  shade  of  a  grand  stand  or  piazza. 

While  he  was  debating  the  wisdom  of 
writing  a  detailed  description  of  yester 
day's  tragedy  while  it  was  still  fresh  in 
his  mind  and  stowing  it  away  for  future 
"  color,"  Park  Holloway  rode  into  the 


84  The  Lure  of 

yard  and  on  to  the  stables.  He  nodded 
at  Thurston  and  grinned  without  appai> 
ent  cause,  as  the  cook  had  done.  Thurs 
ton  followed  him  to  the  corral  and 
watched  him  pull  the  saddle  off  his  horse, 
and  throw  it  carelessly  to  one  side.  It 
looked  cumbersome — that  saddle;  quite 
unlike  the  ones  he  had  inspected  in  the 
New  York  shops.  He  grasped  the  horn, 
lifted  upon  it  and  said,  "  Jove  1 " 

"Heavy,  ain't  it?"  Park  laughed, 
and  slipped  the  bridle  down  over  the  ears 
of  his  horse  and  dismissed  him  with  a 
slap  on  the  rump.  "  Don't  yuh  like  the 
looks  of  it? "  he  added  indulgently. 

Thurston,  engaged  in  wondering  what 
all  those  little  strings  were  for,  felt  the 
indulgence  and  straightened.  "  How 
should  I  know?"  he  retorted.  "Any 
one  can  see  that  my  ignorance  is  abso 
lute.  I  expect  you  to  laugh  at  me,  Mr. 
Holloway." 


the  Dim  Trails  85 

"  Call  me  Park,"  said  he  of  the  tawny 
hair,  and  leaned  against  the  fence  look 
ing  extremely  boyish  and  utterly  inca 
pable  of  walking  calmly  down  upon  a 
barking  revolver  and  shooting  as  he 
went.  "  You're  bound  to  learn  all  about 
saddles  and  what  they're  made  for,"  he 
went  on.  "  So  long  as  yuh  don't  get 
swell-headed  the  first  time  yuh  stick  on 
a  horse  that  side-steps  a  little,  or  back 
down  from  a  few  hard  knocks,  you'll  be 
all  right." 

Thurston  had  not  intended  getting  out 
and  actually  living  the  life  he  had  come 
to  observe,  but  something  got  in  his 
nerves  and  his  blood  and  bred  an  im 
pulse  to  which  he  yielded  without  re 
serve.  "  Park,  see  here,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"  Graves  said  he'd  turn  me  over  to  you, 
so  you  could — er — teach  me  wisdom. 
It's  deuced  rough  on  you,  but  I  hope 
you  won't  refuse  to  be  bothered  with  me. 


86  The  Lure  of 

I  want  to  learn — everything.  And  I 
want  you  to  find  fault  like  the  mischief, 
and — er — knock  me  into  shape,  if  it's 
possible."  He  was  very  modest  over  his 
ignorance,  and  his  voice  rang  true. 

Park  studied  him  gravely.  "Bud," 
he  said  at  last,  "you'll  do.  You're 
greener  right  now  than  a  blue- joint 
meadow  in  June,  but  yuh  got  the  right 
stuff  in  yuh,  and  it's  a  go  with  me.  You 
come  along  with  us  after  that  trail-herd, 
and  you'll  get  knocked  into  shape  fast 
enough.  Smoke? " 

Thurston  shook  his  head.  "Not 
those." 

"I  dunno — I'm  afraid  yuh  can't  be 
the  real  thing  unless  yuh  fan  your  lungs 
with  cigarette  smoke  regular."  The 
twinkle  belied  him,  though.  "  Say, 
where  did  you  pick  them  bloomers?" 

"  They  were  made  in  New  York." 
Thurston  smiled  in  sickly  fashion.  He 


the  Dim  Trails  37 

had  all  along  been  uncomfortably  aware 
of  the  sharp  contrast  between  his  own 
modish  attire  and  the  somewhat  disreput 
able  leathern  chaps  of  his  host's  foreman. 
"  Well,"  commented  Park,  "  you  told 
me  to  find  fault  like  the  mischief,  and 
I'm  going  to  call  your  bluff.  This  here's 
Montana,  recollect,  and  I  raise  the  long 
howl  over  them  habiliments.  The  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  pace  along  to  the 
house  and  discard  before  the  boys  get 
sight  of  yuh.  They'd  queer  yuh  with 
the  whole  outfit,  sure.  Uh  course,"  he 
went  on  soothingly  when  he  saw  the  re 
sentment  in  Thurston's  eyes,  "  I  expect 
they're  real  stylish — back  East — but  the 
boys  ain't  educated  to  stand  for  anything 
like  that;  they'd  likely  tell  yuh  they  set 
like  the  hide  on  the  hind  legs  of  an  ele 
phant — which  is  a  fact.  I  hate  to  say 
it,  Kid,  but  they  sure  do  look  like  the 
devil." 


88  The  Lure  of 

"  So  would  you — in  New  York," 
Thurston  flung  back  at  him. 

"Why,  sure.  But  this  ain't  New 
York;  this  here's  the  Lazy  Eight  corral, 
and  I'm  doing  yuh  a  favor.  You 
wouldn't  like  to  have  the  boys  shooting 
holes  through  the  slack,  would  yuh? 
You  amble  right  along  and  get  some 
pants  on — and  when  you've  wised  up 
some  you'll  thank  me  a  lot.  I'm  going 
on  a  little  jaunt  down  the  creek,  before 
dinner,  and  you  might  go  along;  you'll 
need  to  get  hardened  to  the  saddle  any 
way,  before  we  start  for  Billings,  or 
you'll  do  most  uh  riding  on  the  mess- 
wagon." 

Thurston,  albeit  in  resentful  mood, 
went  meekly  and  did  as  he  was  com 
manded  to  do;  and  no  man  save  Park 
and  the  cook  ever  glimpsed  those  smart 
riding  clothes  of  English  cut. 

"  Now  yuh  look  a  heap  more  human," 


the  Dim  Trails  39 

was  the  way  Park  signified  his  approval 
of  the  change.  "  Here's  a  little  horse 
that's  easy  to  ride  and  dead  gentle  if  yuh 
don't  spur  him  in  the  neck,  which  you 
ain't  liable  to  do  at  present;  and  Hank 
says  you  can  have  this  saddle  for  keeps. 
Hank  used  to  ride  it,  but  he  outgrowed 
it  and  got  one  longer  in  the  seat.  When 
we  start  for  Billings  to  trail  up  them 
cattle,  of  course  you'll  get  a  string  of 
your  own  to  ride." 

"  A  string?  I'm  afraid  I  don't  quite 
understand." 

"  Yuh  don't  savvy  riding  a  string?  A 
string,  m'son,  is  ten  or  a  dozen  saddle- 
horses  that  yuh  ride  turn  about,  and  no 
body  else  has  got  any  right  to  top  one; 
every  fellow  has  got  his  own  string,  yuh 


see." 


Thurston  eyed  his  horse  distrustfully. 
"I  think,"  he  ventured,  "one  will  be 
enough  for  me.  I'll  scarcely  need  a 


40  The  Lure  of 

dozen."     The  truth  was  that  he  thought 
Park  was  laughing  at  him. 

Park  slid  sidewise  in  the  saddle  and 
proceeded  to  roll  another  cigarette.  "I'd 
be  willing  to  bet  that  by  fall  you'll  have 
a  good-sized  string  rode  down  to  a  whis 
per.  You  wait;  wait  till  it  gets  in  your 
blood.  Why,  I'd  die  if  you  took  me  off 
the  range.  Wait  till  yuh  set  out  in  the 
dark,  on  your  horse,  and  count  the  stars 
and  watch  the  big  dipper  swing  around 
towards  morning,  and  listen  to  the  cattle 
breathing  close  by — sleeping  while  you 
ride  around  'em  playing  guardian  angel 
over  their  dreams.  Wait  till  yuh  get  up 
at  daybreak  and  are  in  the  saddle  with 
the  pink  uh  sunrise,  and  know  you'll 
sleep  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  there 
that  night;  and  yuh  lay  down  at  night 
with  the  smell  of  new  grass  in  your  nos 
trils  where  your  bed  had  bruised  it. 
Why,  Bud,  if  you're  a  man,  you'll  be 


the  Dim  Trails  41 

plumb  spoiled  for  your  little  old  East." 
Then  he  swung  back  his  feet  and  the 
horses  broke  into  a  lope  which  jarred 
the  unaccustomed  frame  of  Thurston 
mightily,  though  he  kept  the  pace 
doggedly. 

"  I've  got  to  go  down  to  the  Stevens 
place,"  Park  informed  him.  "  You  met 
Mona  yesterday — it  was  her  come  down 
on  the  train  with  me,  yuh  remember." 
Thurston  did  remember  very  distinctly. 
"  Hank  says  yuh  compose  stories.  Is 
that  right? " 

Thurston's  mind  came  back  from  won 
dering  how  Mona  Stevens'  mouth  looked 
when  she  was  pleased  with  one,  and  he 
nodded. 

"  Well,  there's  a  lot  in  this  country 
that  ain't  ever  been  wrote  about,  I  guess ; 
at  least  if  it  was  I  never  read  it,  and  I 
read  considerable.  But  the  trouble  is, 
them  that  know  ain't  in  the  writing  busi- 


42  The  Lure  of 

ness,  and  them  that  write  don't  know. 
The  way  I've  figured  it,  they  set  back 
East  somewhere  and  write  it  like  they 
think  maybe  it  is;  and  it's  a  hell  of  a  job 
they  make  of  it." 

Thurston,  remembering  the  time  when 
he,  too,  "  set  back  East "  and  wrote  it 
like  he  thought  maybe  it  was,  blushed 
guiltily.  He  was  thankful  that  his  sto 
ries  of  the  West  had,  without  excep 
tion,  been  rejected  as  of  little  worth. 
He  shuddered  to  think  of  one  of  them 
falling  into  the  hands  of  Park  Hollo- 
way. 

"  I  came  out  to  learn,  and  I  want  to 
learn  it  thoroughly,"  he  said,  in  the  face 
of  much  physical  discomfort.  Just  then 
the  horses  slowed  for  a  climb,  and  he 
breathed  thanks.  "  In  the  first  place," 
he  began  again  when  he  had  readjusted 
himself  carefully  in  the  saddle,  "  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me  just  where  you  are  going 


the  Dim  Trails  43 

with  the  wagons,  and  what  you  mean  by 
trailing  a  herd." 

"Why,  I  thought  I  said  we  were 
going  to  Billings,"  Park  answered,  sur 
prised.  "  What  we're  going  to  do  when 
we  get  there  is  to  receive  a  shipment  of 
cattle — young  steers — that's  coming  up 
from  the  Panhandle — which  is  a  part  uh 
Texas.  And  we  trail  'em  up  here  and 
turn  'em  loose  this  side  the  river.  After 
that  we'll  start  the  calf  roundup.  The 
Lazy  Eight  runs  two  wagons,  yuh  know. 
I  run  one,  and  Deacon  Smith  runs  the 
other;  we  work  together,  though,  most 
uh  the  time.  It  makes  quite  a  crew — 
twenty-five  or  thirty  men." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Thurston  dubi 
ously,  "  that  you  ever  shipped  cattle  into 
this  country.  I  supposed  you  shipped 
them  out.  Is  Mr.  Graves  buying  some?  " 

"Hank?  I  guess  yes!  six  thousand 
head  uh  yearlings  and  two-year-olds,  this 


44  The  Lure  of 

spring;  some  seasons  it's  more.  We  get 
in  young  stock  every  year  and  turn  'em 
loose  on  the  range  till  they're  ready  to 
ship.  It's  cheaper  than  raising  calves^ 
yuh  know.  When  yuh  get  to  Billings, 
Bud,  you'll  see  some  cattle!  Why,  our 
bunch  alone  will  make  seven  trains,  and 
that  ain't  a  commencement.  Cattle's 
cheap  down  South,  this  year,  and  seems 
like  everybody's  buying.  Hank  didn't 
buy  as  much  as  some,  because  he  runs 
quite  a  bunch  uh  cows;  we'll  brand  six 
or  seven  thousand  calves  this  spring. 
Hank  sure  knows  how  to  rake  in  the 


coin." 


Thurston  agreed  as  politely  as  he  could 
for  the  jolting.  They  had  again  struck 
the  level  and  seven  miles,  at  Park's  usual 
pace,  was  heartbreaking  to  a  man  not  ac 
customed  to  the  saddle.  Thurston  had 
written,  just  before  leaving  home,  a  mu 
sical  bit  of  verse  born  of  his  luring 


the  Dim  Trails  45 

dreams,  about  "  the  joy  of  speeding 
fleetly  where  the  grass-land  meets  the 
sky,"  and  he  was  gritting  his  teeth  now 
over  the  idiotic  lines. 

When  they  reached  the  ranch  and 
Mona's  mother  came  to  the  door  and  in 
vited  them  in,  he  declined  almost  rudely, 
for  he  had  a  feeling  that  once  out  of  the 
saddle  he  would  have  difficulty  in  getting 
into  it  again.  Besides,  Mona  was  not  at 
home,  according  to  her  mother. 

So  they  did  not  tarry,  and  Thurston 
reached  the  Lazy  Eight  alive,  but  with 
the  glamour  quite  gone  from  his  West. 
If  he  had  not  been  the  son  of  his  father, 
he  would  have  taken  the  first  train  which 
pointed  its  nose  to  the  East,  and  he  would 
never  again  have  essayed  the  writing  of 
Western  stories  or  musical  verse  which 
sung  the  joys  of  galloping  blithely  off  to 
the  sky-line.  He  had  just  been  galloping 
off  to  a  sky-line  that  was  always  just  be- 


46  The  Lure  of 

fore — and  he  had  not  been  blithe;  nor  did 
the  memory  of  it  charm.  Of  a  truth,  the 
very  thought  of  things  Western  made 
him  swear  mild,  city-bred  oaths. 

He  choked  back  his  awe  of  the  cook 
and  asked  him,  quite  humbly,  what  was 
good  to  take  the  soreness  from  one's  mus 
cles;  afterward  he  had  crept  painfully 
up  the  stairs,  clasping  to  his  bosom  a  beer 
bottle  filled  with  pungent,  home-made 
liniment  which  the  cook  had  gravely  de 
clared  "  out  uh  sight  for  saddle-galls." 

Hank  Graves,  when  he  heard  the  story 
— with  artistic  touches — from  the  cook, 
slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed  one  of  his 
soundless  chuckles.  "The  son-of -a-gun ! 
He's  the  right  stuff.  Never  whined,  eh? 
I  knew  it.  He's  his  dad  over  agin,  from 
the  ground  up."  And  loved  him  the 
better. 


the  Dim  Trails  47 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TRAIL- HERD 

HURSTON  tucked  the  bulb 
of  his  camera  down  beside  the 
bellows   and   closed   the   box 
with    a    snap.      "  I    wonder 
what  old  Reeve  would  say  to  that  view," 
he  mused  aloud. 
"Old  who?" 

"  Oh,  a  fellow  back  in  New  York. 
Jove!  he'd  throw  up  his  dry-point  heads 
and  take  to  oils  and  landscapes  if  he  could 
see  this." 

The  "  this  "  was  a  panoramic  view  of 
the  town  and  surrounding  valley  of  Bil 
lings.  The  day  was  sunlit  and  still,  and 
far  objects  stood  up  with  sharp  outlines 


48  The  Lure  of 

in  the  clear  atmosphere.  Here  and  there 
the  white  tents  of  waiting  trail-outfits 
splotched  the  bright  green  of  the  prairie. 
Horsemen  galloped  to  and  from  the  town 
at  top  speed,  and  a  long,  grimy  red  stock 
train  had  just  snorted  out  on  a  siding  by 
the  stockyards  where  the  bellowing  of 
thirsty  cattle  came  faintly  like  the  roar 
of  pounding  surf  in  the  distance. 

Thurston — quite  a  different  Thurston 
from  the  trim,  pale  young  man  who  had 
followed  the  lure  of  the  West  two  weeks 
before — drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
out  over  the  hurrying  waters  of  the  Yel 
lowstone.  It  was  good  to  be  alive  and 
young,  and  to  live  the  tented  life  of  the 
plains;  it  was  good  even  to  be  "  speeding 
fleetly  where  the  grass-land  meets  the 
sky  " — for  two  weeks  in  the  saddle  had 
changed  considerably  his  view-point.  He 
turned  again  to  the  dust  and  roar  of  the 
stockyards  a  mile  or  so  away. 


the  Dim  Trails  49 

"  Perhaps,"  he  remarked  hopefully, 
"  the  next  train  will  be  ours."  Strange 
how  soon  a  man  may  identify  himself 
with  new  conditions  and  new  aims.  He 
had  come  West  to  look  upon  the  life 
from  the  outside,  and  now  his  chief 
thought  was  of  the  coming  steers,  which 
he  referred  to  unblushingly  as  "  our 
cattle."  Such  is  the  spell  of  the  range. 

"  Let's  ride  on  over,  Bud,"  Park  pro 
posed.  "That's  likely  the  Circle  Bar 
shipment.  Their  bunch  comes  from  the 
same  place  ours  does,  and  I  want  to  see 
how  they  stack  up." 

Thurston  agreed  and  went  to  saddle 
up.  He  had  mastered  the  art  of  saddling 
and  could,  on  lucky  days  and  when  he 
was  in  what  he  called  "  form,"  rope  the 
horse  he  wanted;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
times  when  his  loop  settled  un 
expectedly  over  the  wrong  vic 
tim.  Park  Holloway,  for  in- 


50  The  Lure  of 

stance,  who  once  got  it  neatly  under  his 
chin,  much  to  his  disgust  and  the  aston 
ishment  of  Thurston. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  my  kodak,"  said 
he.  "  I  like  to  watch  them  unload,  and  I 
can  get  some  good  pictures,  with  this 
sunlight." 

'  When  you've  hollered  'em  up  and 
down  the  chutes  as  many  times  as  I 
have,"  Park  told  him,  "  yuh  won't  need 
no  pictures  to  help  yuh  remember  what 
it's  like." 

It  was  an  old  story  with  Park,  and 
Thurston's  enthusiasm  struck  him  as  a. 
bit  funny.  He  perched  upon  a  corner 
of  the  fence  out  of  the  way,  and  smoked 
cigarettes  while  he  watched  the  cattle 
and  shouted  pleasantries  to  the  men  who 
prodded  and  swore  and  gesticulated  at 
the  wild-eyed  huddle  in  the  pens.  Soon 
his  turn  would  come,  but  just  now  he 
was  content  to  look  on  and  take  his  ease. 


the  Dim  Trails  51 

"  For  the  life  of  me,"  cried  Thurston, 
sidling  gingerly  over  to  him,  "  I  can't 
see  where  they  all  come  from.  For  two 
days  these  yards  have  never  been  empty. 
The  country  will  soon  be  one  vast  herd." 

"Two  days — huh!  this  thing'll  go  on 
for  weeks,  m'son.  And  after  all  is  over, 
you'll  wonder  where  the  dickens  they  all 
went  to.  Montana  is  some  bigger  than 
you  realize,  I  guess.  And  next  fall, 
when  shipping  starts,  you'll  think  you're 
seeing  raw  porterhouse  steaks  for  the 
whole  world.  Let's  drift  out  uh  this 
dust;  you'll  have  time  to  get  a  carload 
uh  pictures  before  our  bunch  rolls  in." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  two  weeks 
before  the  Lazy  Eight  consignment  ar 
rived.  Thurston  haunted  the  stockyards 
with  his  kodak,  but  after  the  first  two  or 
three  days  he  took  no  pictures.  For 
every  day  was  but  a  repetition  of  those 
that  had  gone  before:  a  great,  grimy 


52  The  Lure  of 

engine  shunting  cars  back  and  forth  on 
the  siding;  an  endless  stream  of  weary, 
young  cattle  flowing  down  the  steep 
chutes  into  the  pens,  from  the  pens  to 
the  branding  chutes,  where  they  were 
burned  deep  with  the  mark  of  their  new 
owners ;  then  out  through  the  great  gate, 
crowding,  pushing,  wild  to  flee  from 
restraint,  yet  held  in  and  guided  by 
mounted  cowboys;  out  upon  the  green 
prairie  where  they  could  feast  once  more 
upon  sweet  grasses  and  drink  their  fill 
from  the  river  of  clear,  mountain  water; 
out  upon  the  weary  march  of  the  trail, 
on  and  on  for  long  days  until  some 
boundary  which  their  drivers  hailed  with 
joy  was  passed,  and  they  were  free  at 
last  to  roam  at  will  over  the  wind-brushed 
range-land;  to  lie  down  in  some  cool, 
sweet-scented  swale  and  chew  their  cuds 
in  peace. 

Two  weeks,  and  then  came  a  telegram 


the  Dim  Trails  53 

for  Park.  In  the  reading  of  it  he 
shuffled  off  his  attitude  of  boyish  irre 
sponsibility  and  became  in  a  breath  the 
cool,  business-like  leader  of  men.  Hold 
ing  the  envelope  still  in  his  hand  he 
sought  out  Thurston,  who  was  practis 
ing  with  a  rope.  As  Park  approached 
him  he  whirled  the  noose  and  cast  it 
neatly  over  the  peak  of  the  night-hawk's 
teepee. 

"  Good  shot,"  Park  encouraged,  "  but 
I'd  advise  yuh  to  take  another  target. 
You'll  have  the  tent  down  over  Scotty's 
ears,  and  then  you'll  think  yuh  stirred 
up  a  mess  uh  hornets. 

"  Say,  Bud,  our  cattle  are  coming,  and 
I'm  going  to  be  short  uh  men.  If  you'd 
like  a  job  I'll  take  yuh  on,  and  take 
chances  on  licking  yuh  into  shape.  Maybe 
the  wages  won't  appeal  to  yuh,  but  I'm 
willing  to  throw  in  heaps  uh  valuable  ex 
perience  that  won't  cost  yuh  a  cent."  He 


54  The  Lure  of 

lowered  an  eyelid  toward  the  cook-tent, 
although  no  one  was  visible. 

Thurston  studied  the  matter  while  he 
coiled  his  rope,  and  no  longer.  Secretly 
he  had  wanted  all  along  to  be  a  part  of 
the  life  instead  of  an  onlooker.  "  I'll 
take  the  job,  Park — if  you  think  I  can 
hold  it  down."  The  speech  would  doubt 
less  have  astonished  Reeve-Howard  in 
more  ways  than  one;  but  Reeve-Howard 
was  already  a  part  of  the  past  in  Thurs- 
ton's  mind.  He  was  for  living  the  pres 
ent. 

"  Well,"  Park  retorted,  "  it'll  be  your 
own  funeral  if  yuh  get  fired.  Better 
stake  yourself  to  a  pair  uh  chaps;  you'll 
need  'em  on  the  trip." 

"  Also  a  large,  rainbow-hued  silk 
handkerchief  if  I  want  to  look  the  part," 
Thurston  bantered. 

"If  yuh  don't  want  your  darned  neck 
blistered,  yuh  mean,"  Park  flung  over  his 


the  Dim  Trails  55 

shoulders.  '  Your  wages  and  schooling 
start  in  to-morrow  at  sunup." 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  the 
first  train  arrived,  hungry,  thirsty,  tired, 
bawling  a  general  protest  against  fate 
and  man's  mode  of  travel.  Thurston, 
with  a  long  pole  in  his  hand,  stood  on  the 
narrow  plank  near  the  top  of  a  chute 
wall  and  prodded  vaguely  at  an  endless, 
moving  incline  of  backs.  Incidentally 
he  took  his  cue  from  his  neighbors,  and 
shouted  till  his  voice  was  a  croak — 
though  he  could  not  see  that  he  accom 
plished  anything  either  by  his  prodding 
or  his  shouting. 

Below  him  surged  the  sea  of  hide  and 
horns  which  was  barely  suggestive  of  the 
animals  as  individuals.  Out  in  the  cor 
rals  the  dust-cloud  hung  low,  just  as  it 
had  hovered  every  day  for  more  than  two 
weeks;  just  as  it  would  hover  every  day 
for  two  weeks  longer.  Across  the  yards 


56  The  Lure  of 

near  the  big,  outer  gate  Deacon  Smith's 
crew  was  already  beginning  to  brand. 
The  first  train  was  barely  unloaded  when 
the  second  trailed  in  and  out  on  the 
siding;  and  so  the  third  came  also.  Then 
came  a  lull,  for  the  consignment  had  been 
split  in  two  and  the  second  section  was 
several  hours  behind  the  first. 

Thurston  rode  out  to  camp,  aching 
with  the  strain  and  ravenously  hungry, 
after  toiling  with  his  muscles  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life;  for  his  had  been 
days  of  physical  ease.  He  had  yet  to 
learn  the  art  of  working  so  that  every 
movement  counted  something  accom 
plished,  as  did  the  others ;  besides,  he  had 
been  in  constant  fear  of  losing  his  hold 
on  the  fence  and  plunging  headlong 
amongst  the  trampling  hoofs  below,  a 
fate  that  he  shuddered  to  contemplate. 
He  did  not,  however,  mention  that  fear^ 
or  his  muscle-ache,  to  any  man;  he  might 


the  Dim  Trails  57 

be  green,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to 
whine. 

When  he  went  back  into  the  dust  and 
roar,  Park  ordered  him  curtly  to  tend 
the  branding  fire,  since  both  crews  would 
brand  that  afternoon  and  get  the  corrals 
cleared  for  the  next  shipment.  Thurston 
thanked  Park  mentally;  tending  brand 
ing-fire  sounded  very  much  like  child's 
play. 

Soon  the  gray  dust-cloud  took  on  a 
shade  of  blue  in  places  where  the  smoke 
from  the  fires  cut  through;  a  new  tang 
smote  the  nostrils:  the  rank  odor  of 
burning  hair  and  searing  hides;  a  new 
note  crept  into  the  clamoring  roar:  the 
low-keyed  blat  of  pain  and  fright. 

Thurston  turned  away  his  head  from 
the  sight  and  the  smell,  and  piled  on  wood 
until  Park  stopped  him  with:  "  Say,  Bud, 
we  ain't  celebrating  any  election !  It  ain't 
a  bonfire  we  want,  it's  heat;  just  keep 


58  The  Lure  of 

her  going  and  save  wood  all  yuh  can." 
After  an  hour  of  fire-tending  Thurs- 
ton  decided  that  there  were  things  more 
wearisome  than  "  hollering  'em  down  the 
chutes."  His  eyes  were  smarting  intol 
erably  with  smoke  and  heat,  and  the 
smell  of  the  branding  was  not  nice;  but 
through  the  long  afternoon  he  stuck  to 
the  work,  shrewdly  guessing  that  the 
others  were  not  having  any  fun  either. 
Park  and  "  the  Deacon  "  worked  as  hard 
as  any,  branding  the  steers  as  they  were 
squeezed,  one  by  one,  fast  in  the  little 
branding  chutes.  The  setting  sun  shone 
redly  through  the  smoke  before  Thurston 
was  free  to  kick  the  half -burnt  sticks 
apart  and  pour  water  upon  them  as  di 
rected  by  Park. 

"  Think  yuh  earned  your  little  old  dol- 
lar-and-thirty-three  cents,  Bud?"  Park 
asked  him.  And  Thurston  smiled  a  tired, 
sooty  smile  that  seemed  all  teeth. 


the  Dim  Trails  59 

"  I  hope  so;  at  any  rate,  I  have  a  deep, 
inner  knowledge  of  the  joys  of  branding 
cattle." 

"Wait  till  yuh  burn  Lazy  Eights  on 
wriggling,  blatting  calves  for  two  or 
three  hours  at  a  stretch  before  yuh  talk 
about  the  joys  uh  branding."  Park 
rubbed  eloquently  his  aching  biceps. 

At  dusk  Thurston  crept  into  his 
blankets,  feeling  that  he  would  like  the 
night  to  be  at  least  thirty-six  hours 
long.  He  was  just  settling  into  a  lux 
urious,  leather-upholstered  dream  chair 
preparatory  to  telling  Reeve-Howard 
his  Western  experiences  when  Park's 
voice  bellowed  into  the  tent: 

"  Roll  out,  boys — we  got  a  train  pull 
ing  in ! " 

There  was  hurried  dressing  in  the  dark 
of  the  bed-tent,  hasty  mounting,  and  a 
hastier  ride  through  the  cool  night  air. 
There  were  long  hours  at  the  chutes, 


60 


The  Lure  of 


prodding  down  at  a  wavering  line  of 
moving  shadows,  while  the  "  big  dipper  " 
hung  bright  in  the  sky  and  lighted  lan 
terns  bobbed  back  and  forth  along  the 
train  waving  signals  to  one  another.  At 
intervals  Park's  voice  cut  crisply  through 
the  turmoil,  giving  orders  to  men  whom 
he  could  not  see. 

The  east  was  lightening  to  a  pale  yel 
low  when  the  men  climbed  at  last  into 
their  saddles  _^— ^  and  galloped 

out  to  camp  for 
a  hurried  break 
fast.  Thurston  had 
been  comforting  his  ach 
ing  body  with  the  prom 
ise  of  rest  and  sleep; 
but  three  thousand  cattle 
were  milling  impatiently 
in  the  stockyards,  so 
presently  he  found  him 
self  fanning  a  sickly 


the  Dim  Trails  61 

little  blaze  with  his  hat  while  he  endeav 
ored  to  keep  the  smoke  from  his  tired 
eyes.  Of  a  truth,  Reeve-Howard  would 
have  stared  mightily  at  sight  of  him. 

Once  Park,  passing  by,  smiled  down 
upon  him  grimly.  "  Here's  where  yuh 
get  the  real  thing  in  local  color,"  he 
taunted,  but  Thurston  was  too  busy  to 
answer.  The  stress  of  living  had  dimmed 
his  eye  for  the  picturesque. 

That  night,  one  Philip  Thurston  slept 
as  sleeps  the  dead.  But  he  awoke  with 
the  others  and  thanked  the  Lord  there 
were  no  more  cattle  to  unload  and  brand. 

When  he  went  out  on  day-herd  that 
afternoon  he  fancied  that  he  was  getting 
into  the  midst  of  things  and  taking  his 
place  with  the  veterans.  He  would  have 
been  filled  with  resentment  had  he  sus 
pected  the  truth:  that  Park  carefully 
eased  those  first  days  of  his  novitiate. 
That  was  why  none  of  the  night-guard 
ing  fell  to  him  until  they  had  left  Bil 
lings  many  miles  behind  them. 


62  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER  Vj 

THE  STORM 

HE  third  night  he  was  de 
tailed  to  stand  with  Bob 
MacGregor  on  the  middle 
guard,  which  lasts  from 
eleven  o'clock  until  two.  The  outfit  had 
camped  near  the  head  of  a  long,  shallow 
basin  that  had  a  creek  running  through; 
down  the  winding  banks  of  it  lay  the 
white-tented  camps  of  seven  other  trail- 
herds,  the  cattle  making  great  brown 
blotches  against  the  green  at  sundown. 
Thurston  hoped  they  would  all  be  there 
in  the  morning  when  the  sun  came  up,  so 
that  he  could  get  a  picture. 


the  Dim  Trails  63 

"  Aw,  they'll  be  miles  away  by  then," 
Bob  assured  him  unfeelingly.  "  By  the 
signs,  you  can  take  snap-shots  by  light 
ning  in  another  hour.  Got  your  slicker, 
Bud? " 

Thurston  said  he  hadn't,  and  Bob 
shook  his  head  prophetically.  "  You'll 
sure  wish  yuh  had  it  before  yuh  hit 
camp  again;  when  yuh  get  wise,  you'll 
ride  with  your  slicker  behind  the  cantle, 
rain  or  shine.  They'll  need  singing  to, 
to-night." 

Thurston  prudently  kept  silent,  since 
he  knew  nothing  whatever  about  it,  and 
Bob  gave  him  minute  directions  about 
riding  his  rounds,  and  how  to  turn  a 
stray  animal  back  into  the  herd  without 
disturbing  the  others. 

The  man  they  relieved  met  them  si 
lently  and  rode  away  to  camp.  Off  to 
the  right  an  animal  coughed,  and  a  black 
shape  moved  out  from  the  shadows. 


64  The  Lure  of 

Bob  swung  towards  it,  and  the  shape 
melted  again  into  the  splotch  of  shade 
which  was  the  sleeping  herd.  He  mo 
tioned  to  the  left.  '  Yuh  can  go  that 
way;  and  yuh  want  to  sing  something, 
or  whistle,  so  they'll  know  what  yuh  are." 
His  tone  was  subdued,  as  it  had  not  been 
before.  He  seemed  to  drift  away  into 
the  darkness,  and  soon  his  voice  rose, 
away  across  the  herd,  singing.  As  he 
drew  nearer  Thurston  caught  the  words 
— at  first  disjointed  and  indistinct,  then 
plainer  as  they  met.  It  was  a  song  he 
had  never  heard  before,  because  its  first 
popularity  had  swept  far  below  his  so 
cial  plane. 

She's  o-only  a  bird  in  a  gil-ded  cage, 
A  beautiful  sight  to  see-e-e; 

You  may  think  she  seems  ha-a-aappy  and  free  from 
ca-a-re 

The  singer  passed  on  and  away,  and 
only  the  high  notes  floated  across  to 


the  Dim  Trails  65 

Thurston,  who  whistled  softly  under  his 
breath  while  he  listened.  Then,  as  they 
neared  again  on  the  second  round,  the 
words  came  pensively: 

Her  beauty  was  so-o-old 
For  an  old  man's  go-o-old, 
She's  a  bird  in  a  gil-ded  ca-a-age. 

Thurston  rode  slowly  like  one  in  a 
dream,  and  the  lure  of  the  range-land 
was  strong  upon  him.  The  deep  breath 
ing  of  three  thousand  sleeping  cattle; 
the  strong,  animal  odor;  the  black  night 
which  grew  each  moment  blacker,  and 
the  rhythmic  ebb  and  flow  of  the  clear, 
untrained  voice  of  a  cowboy  singing  to 
his  charge.  If  he  could  put  it  into 
words ;  if  he  could  but  picture  the  broody 
stillness,  with  frogs  cr-ekk,  cr-ekking 
along  the  reedy  creek-bank  and  a  coyote 
yapping  weirdly  upon  a  distant  hilltop! 
From  the  southwest  came  mutterings 


66  The  Lure  of 

half-defiant  and  ominous.  A  breeze 
whispered  something  to  the  grasses  as  it 
crept  away  down  the  valley. 

I  stood  in  a  church-yard  just  at  ee-eve, 
While  the  sunset  ador-ned  the  west 

It  was  Bob,  drawing  close  out  of  the 
night.  "You're  doing  fine,  Kid;  keep 
her  a-going,"  he  commended,  in  an  un 
dertone  as  he  passed,  and  Thurston 
moistened  his  unaccustomed  lips  and  be 
gan  industriously  whistling  "  The  Heart 
Bowed  Down,"  and  from  that  jumped 
to  Faust.  Fifteen  minutes  exhausted 
his  memory  of  the  whistleable  parts,  and 
he  was  not  given  to  tiresome  repetitions. 
He  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  Bob's 
voice  chanted  admonishingly  from  some 
where,  "  Keep  her  a-go-o-ing,  Bud,  old 
boy!"  So  Thurston  took  breath  and 
began  on  "The  Holy  City,"  and  came 
near  laughing  at  the  incongruity  of  the 


the  Dim  Trails  67 

song;  only  he  remembered  that  he  must 
not  frighten  the  cattle,  and  checked  the 
impulse. 

"  Say,"  Bob  began  when  he  came  near 
enough,  "  do  yuh  know  the  words  uh  that 
piece?  It's  a  peach;  I  wisht  you'd  sing 
it."  He  rode  on,  still  humming  the  woes 
of  the  lady  who  married  for  gold. 

Thurston  obeyed  while  the  high-piled 
thunder-heads  rumbled  deep  accompani 
ment,  like  the  resonant  lower  tones  of  a 
bass  viol. 

Last  night  I  lay  a-sleeping,  there  came  a  dream  so 

fair; 
I  stood  in  old  Jerusalem,  beside  the  temple  there 

A  steer  stepped  restlessly  out  of  the 
herd,  and  Thurston's  horse,  trained  to  the 
work,  of  his  own  accord  turned  him 
gently  back. 

I  heard  the  children  singing;  and  ever  as  they  sang, 
Methought  the  voice  of  angels  from  heaven  in  an 
swer  rang. 


68  The  Lure  of 

From  the  west  the  thunder  boomed, 
drowning  the  words  in  its  deep-throated 
growl. 

Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  lift  up  your  gates  and  sing 

"Hit  her  up  a  little  faster,  Bud,  or 
we'll  lose  some.  They're  getting  on  their 
feet  with  that  thunder." 

Sunfish,  in  answer  to  Thurston's  touch 
on  the  reins,  quickened  to  a  trot.  The 
joggling  was  not  conducive  to  the  best 
vocal  expression,  but  the  singer  per 
severed: 

Hosanna  in  the  high-est, 
Hosanna  to  your  King! 

Flash!  the  lightning  cut  through  the 
storm-clouds,  and  Bob,  who  had  con 
tented  himself  with  a  subdued  whistling 
while  he  listened,  took  up  the  refrain: 

Jerusalem,  Jerusalem 

It  was  as  if  a  battery  of  heavy  field 


the  Dim  Trails  69 

pieces  boomed  overhead.  The  entire 
herd  was  on  its  feet  and  stood  close- 
huddled,  their  tails  to  the  coming  storm. 
Now  the  horses  were  loping  steadily  in 
their  endless  circling — a  pace  they  could 
hold  for  hours  if  need  be.  For  one  blind 
ing  instant  Thurston  saw  far  down  the 
valley;  then  the  black  curtain  dropped  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  lifted. 

"Keep  a-hollering,  Bud!"  came  the 
command,  and  after  it  Bob's  voice  trilled 
high  above  the  thunder-growl: 

Hosanna  in  the  high-est, 
Hosanna  to  your  King! 

A  strange  thrill  of  excitement  came 
to  Thurston.  It  was  all  new  to  him;  for 
his  life  had  been  sheltered  from  the  rages 
of  nature.  He  had  never  before  been 
out  under  the  night  sky  when  it  was 
threatening  as  now.  He  flinched  when 
came  an  ear-splitting  crash  that  once 


70  The  Lure  of 

again  lifted  the  black  curtain  and  showed 
him,  white-lighted,  the  plain.  In  the 
dark  that  followed  came  a  rhythmic  thud 
of  hoofs  far  up  the  creek,  and  the  rattle 
of  living  castanets.  Sunfish  threw  up 
his  head  and  listened,  muscles  a-quiver. 

"  There's  a  bunch  a-running,"  called 
Bob  from  across  the  frightened  herd. 
"  If  they  hit  us,  give  Sunfish  his  head 
— he's  been  there  before — and  keep  on 
the  outside! " 

Thurston  yelled  "  All  right!"  but  the 
pounding  roar  of  the  stampede  drowned 
his  voice.  A  whirlwind  of  frenzied  steers 
bore  down  upon  him — twenty-five  hun 
dred  Panhandle  two-year-olds,  though 
he  did  not  know  it  then.  His  mind  was 
all  a  daze,  with  one  sentence  zig-zagging 
through  it  like  the  lightning  over  his  head, 
"  Give  Sunfish  his  head,  and  keep  on  the 
outside! ' 

That  was  what  saved  him,  for  he  had 


the  Dim  Trails  71 

the  sense  to  obey.  After  a  few  minutes 
of  breathless  racing,  with  a  roar  as  of 
breakers  in  his  ears  and  the  crackle  of 
clashing  horns  and  the  gleaming  of  roll 
ing  eyeballs  close  upon  his  horse's  heels, 
he  found  himself  washed  high  and  dry, 
as  it  were,  while  the  tumult  swept  by. 
Presently  he  was  galloping  along  behind 
and  wondering  dully  how  he  got  there, 
though  perhaps  Sunfish  knew  well 
enough. 

In  his  story  of  the  West — the  one  that 
had  failed  to  be  convincing — he  had  in 
his  ignorance  described  a  stampede,  and 
it  had  not  been  in  the  least  like  this  one. 
He  blushed  at  the  memory,  and  won 
dered  if  he  should  ever  again  feel  quali 
fied  to  write  of  these  things. 

Great  drops  of  rain  pounded  him  on 
the  back  as  he  rode — chill  drops,  that 
went  to  the  skin.  He  thought  of  his 
new  canary-colored  slicker  in  the  bed- 


72  The  Lure  of 

tent,  and  before  he  knew  it  swore  just  as 
any  of  the  other  men  would  have  done 
under  similar  provocation;  it  was  the  first 
real,  able-bodied  oath  he  had  ever  uttered., 
He  was  becoming  assimilated  with  the 
raw  conditions  of  life. 

He  heard  a  man's  voice  calling  to  him, 
and  distinguished  the  dim  shape  of  a 
rider  close  by.  He  shouted  that  pass 
word  of  the  range,  "  Hello!  " 

'What  outfit  is  this?"  the  man  cried 
again. 

"The  Lazy  Eight!"  snapped  Thurs- 
ton,  sure  that  the  other  had  come  with 
the  stampede.  Then,  feeling  the  anger 
of  temporary  authority,  "  What  in  hell 
are  you  up  to,  letting  your  cattle  run? " 
If  Park  could  have  heard  him  say  that 
— or  Reeve-Howard! 

Down  the  long  length  of  the  valley 
they  swept,  gathering  to  themselves  other 
herds  and  other  riders  as  incensed  as 


the  Dim  Trails  73 

were  themselves.  It  is  not  pretty  work, 
nor  amusing,  to  gallop  madly  in  the  wake 
of  a  stampede  at  night,  keeping  up  the 
stragglers  and  taking  the  chance  of  a 
broken  neck  with  the  rain  to  make  mat 
ters  worse. 

Bob  MacGregor  sought  Thurston  with 
much  shouting,  and  having  found  him 
they  rode  side  by  side.  And  always  the 
thunder  boomed  overhead,  and  by  the 
lightning  flashes  they  glimpsed  the  tur 
bulent  sea  of  cattle  fleeing,  they  knew 
not  where  or  why,  with  blind  fear  crowd 
ing  their  heels. 

The  noise  of  it  roused  the  camps  as 
they  thundered  by;  men  rose  up,  peered 
out  from  bed-tents  as  the  stampede 
swept  past,  cursed  the  delay  it  would 
probably  make,  hoped  none  of  the  boys 
got  hurt,  and  thanked  the  Lord  the  tents 
were  pitched  close  to  the  creek  and  out 
of  the  track  of  the  maddened  herds. 


74  The  Lure  oft 

Then  they  went  back  to  bed  to  wait 
philosophically  for  daylight. 

When  Sunfish,  between  flashes,  stum 
bled  into  a  shallow  washout,  and  sent 
Thurston  sailing  unbeautifully  over  his 
head,  Bob  pulled  up  and  slid  off  his 
horse  in  a  hurry. 

"Yuh  hurt,  Bud?"  he  cried  anx 
iously,  bending  over  him.  For  Thurs 
ton,  from  the  very  frankness  of  his  ver 
dant  ignorance,  had  won  for  himself  the 
indulgent  protectiveness  of  the  whole 
outfit;  not  a  man  but  watched  unobtru 
sively  over  his  welfare — and  Bob  Mac- 
Gregor  went  farther  and  loved  him 
whole-heartedly.  His  voice,  when  he 
spoke,  was  unequivocally  frightened. 

Thurston  sat  up  and  wiped  a  handful 
of  mud  off  his  face;  if  it  had  not  been 
so  dark  Bob  would  have  shouted  at  the 


the  Dim  Trails  75 

spectacle.  "  I'm  '  kinda  sorter  shuck  up 
like/"  he  quoted  ruefully.  "And  my 
nose  is  skinned,  thank  you.  Where's  that 
devil  of  a  horse?  " 

Bob  stood  over  him  and  grinned. 
"My,  I'm  surprised  at  yuh,  Bud! 
What  would  your  Sunday-school  teacher 
say  if  she  heard  yuh?  Anyway,  yuh 
ain't  got  any  call  to  cuss  Sunfish;  he 
ain't  to  blame.  He's  used  to  fellows  that 
can  ride." 

"  Shut  up ! "  Thurston  commanded  in 
elegantly.  "  I'd  like  to  see  you  ride  a 
horse  when  he's  upside  down! " 

"  Aw,  come  on,"  urged  Bob,  giving  up 
the  argument.  "  We'll  be  plumb  lost 
from  the  herd  if  we  don't  hustle." 

They  got  into  their  saddles  again  and 
went  on,  riding  by  sound  and  the  rare 
glimpses  the  lightning  gave  them  as  it 
flared  through  the  storm  away  to  the  east. 

"Wet?"  Bob  sung  out  sympathetic- 


76  The  Lure  of 

ally  from  the  streaming  shelter  of  his 
slicker.  Thurston,  wriggling  away  from 
his  soaked  clothing,  grunted  a  sarcastic 
negative. 

The  cattle  were  drifting  now  before 
the  storm  which  had  settled  to  a  monoto 
nous  downpour.  The  riders — two  or 
three  men  for  every  herd  that  had  joined 
in  the  panic — circled,  a  veritable  picket 
line  without  the  password.  There  would 
be  no  relief  ride  out  to  them  that  night, 
and  they  knew  it  and  settled  to  the  long 
wait  for  morning. 

Thurston  took  up  his  station  next  to 
Bob ;  rode  until  he  met  the  next  man,  and 
then  retraced  his  steps  till  he  faced  Bob 
again;  rode  until  the  world  seemed  unreal 
and  far  away,  with  nothing  left  but  the 
night  and  the  riding  back  and  forth  on 
his  beat,  and  the  rain  that  oozed  through 
his  clothes  and  trickled  uncomfortably 
down  inside  his  collar.  He  lost  all  count 


the  Dim  Trails  77 

of  time,  and  was  startled  .wlien  at  last 
came  gray  dawn. 

As  the  light  grew  brighter  his  eyes 
widened  and  forgot  their  sleep-hunger; 
he  had  not  thought  it  would  be  like  this. 
He  was  riding  part  way  across  one  end 
of  a  herd  larger  than  his  imagination  had 
ever  pictured;  three  thousand  cattle  had 
seemed  to  him  a  multitude — yet  here  were 
more  than  twenty  thousand,  wet,  drag 
gled,  their  backs  humped  miserably  from 
the  rain  which  but  a  half  hour  since  had 
ceased.  He  was  still  gazing  and  wonder 
ing  when  Park  rode  up  to  him. 

"  Lord!  Bud,  you're  a  sight!  Did  the 
bunch  walk  over  yuh? "  he  greeted. 

"  No,  only  Sunfish,"  snapped  Thurs- 
ton  crossly.  Time  was  when  Philip 
Thurston  would  not  have  answered  any 
man  abruptly,  however  great  the  provo 
cation.  He  was  only  lately  getting  down 
to  the  real,  elemental  man  of  him;  to  the. 


78  The  Lure  of 

son  of  Bill  Thurston,  bull-whacker,  pros 
pector,  follower  of  dim  trails.  He  rode 
silently  back  to  camp  with  Bob;  ate  his 
breakfast,  got  into  dry  clothes  and  went 
out  and  tied  his  slicker  deliberately  and 
securely  behind  the  cantle  of  his  saddle, 
though  the  sun  was  shining  straight  into 
his  eyes  and  the  sky  fairly  twinkled,  it 
was  so  clean  of  clouds. 

Bob  watched  him  with  eyes  that 
laughed.  "  My,  you're  an  ambitious  son- 
of-a-gun,"  he  chuckled.  "  And  you've 
got  the  slicker  question  settled  in  your 
mind,  I  see;  yuh  learn  easy;  it  takes  two 
or  three  soakings  to  learn  some  folks." 

"  We've  got  to  go  back  and  help  with 
the  herd,  haven't  we?"  Thurston  asked. 
"  The  horses  are  all  out." 

"  Yep.  They'll  stay  out,  too,  till  noon, 
m'son.  We  hike  to  bed,  if  anybody 
should  ask  yuh." 

So  it  was  not  till  after  dinner  that  he 


the  Dim  Trails  79 

rode  back  to  the  great  herd — with  his 
kodak  in  his  pocket — to  find  the  cattle 
split  up  into  several  bunches.  The  riders 
at  once  went  to  work  separating  the  dif 
ferent  brands.  He  was  too  green  a  hand 
to  do  anything  but  help  hold  the  "  cut," 
and  that  was  so  much  like  ordinary  herd 
ing  that  his  interest  flagged.  He  wanted, 
more  than  anything,  to  ride  into  the 
bunch  and  single  out  a  Lazy  Eight  steer, 
skilfully  hazing  him  down  the  slope  to 
the  cut,  as  he  saw  the  others  do. 

Bob  told  him  it  was  the  biggest  mix-up 
he  had  ever  seen — and  Bob  had  ridden 
the  range  in  every  State  where  beef 
grows  wild.  He  was  in  the  thickest  of 
the  huddle — was  Bob,  working  as  if  he 
did  not  know  the  meaning  of  fatigue. 
Thurston,  watching  him  thread  his  way 
in  and  out  of  the  restless,  milling  herd, 
only  to  reappear  unexpectedly  at  the 
edge  with  a  steer  just  before  the  nose  of 


80  The  Lure  of 

his  horse,  rush  it  out  from  among  the 
others — wheeling,  darting  this  way  and 
that,  as  it  tried  to  dodge  back,  and  al 
ways  coming  off  victor,  wondered  if  he 
could  ever  learn  to  do  it. 

Being  in  pessimistic  mood,  he  told  him 
self  that  he  would  probably  always  re 
main  a  greenhorn,  to  be  borne  with  and 
coached  and  given  boy's  work  to  do;  all 
because  he  had  been  cheated  of  his  legacy 
of  the  dim  trails  and  forced  to  grow  up 
in  a  city,  hedged  about  all  his  life  by  arti 
ficial  conditions,  his  conscience  wedded  to 
convention. 


the  Dim  Trails  81 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   BIG  DIVIDE 

HE  long  drive  was  nearly 
over.  Even  Thurston's  eyes 
brightened  when  he  saw, 
away  upon  the  sky-line,  the 
hills  that  squatted  behind  the  home  ranch 
of  the  Lazy  Eight.  The  past  month  had 
been  one  of  rapid  living  under  new  con 
ditions,  and  at  sight  of  them  it  seemed 
only  a  few  days  since  he  had  first  glimpsed 
that  broken  line  of  hills  and  the  bachelor 
household  in  the  coulee  below. 

As  the  travel-weary  herd  swung  down 
the  long  hill  into  the  valley  of  the  Milk 
River,  stepping  out  briskly  as  they 
sighted  the  cool  water  in  the  near  dis- 


82  The  Lure  of 

tance,  the  past  month  dropped  away  from 
Thurston,  and  what  had  gone  just  before 
came  back  fresh  as  the  happenings  of  the 
morning.  There  was  the  Stevens  ranch, 
a  scant  half  mile  away  from  where  the 
tents  already  gleamed  on  their  last  camp 
of  the  long  trail;  the  smoke  from  the 
cook-tent  telling  of  savory  meats  and 
puddings,  the  bare  thought  of  which 
made  one  hurry  his  horse. 

His  eyes  dwelt  longest,  however,  upon 
the  Stevens  house  half  hidden  among  the 
giant  cottonwoods,  and  he  wondered  if 
Mona  would  still  smile  at  him  with  that 
unpleasant  uplift  at  the  corner  of  her  red 
mouth.  He  would  take  care  that  she  did 
not  get  the  chance  to  smile  at  him  in  any 
fashion,  he  told  himself  with  decision. 

He  wondered  if  those  train-robbers 
had  been  captured,  and  if  the  one  Park 
wounded  was  still  alive.  He  shivered 
when  he  thought  of  the  dead  man  in  the 


the  Dim  Trails  83 

aisle,  and  hoped  he  would  never  witness 
another  death;  involuntarily  he  glanced 
down  at  his  right  stirrup,  half  expecting 
to  see  his  boot  red  with  human  blood.  It 
was  not  nice  to  remember — that  scene, 
and  he  gave  his  shoulders  an  impatient 
hitch  and  tried  to  think  of  something  else. 
Mindful  of  his  vow,  he  had  bought  a 
gun  in  Billings,  but  he  had  not  yet 
learned  to  hit  anything  he  aimed  at;  for 
firearms  are  hushed  in  roundup  camps, 
except  when  dire  necessity  breeds  a  law 
of  its  own.  Range  cattle  do  not  take 
kindly  to  the  popping  of  pistols.  So 
Thurston's  revolver  was  yet  unstained 
with  powder  grime,  and  was  packed 
away  inside  his  bed.  He  was  promising 
his  pride  that  he  would  go  up  on  the  hill, 
back  of  the  Lazy  Eight  corrals,  and  shoot 
until  even  Mona  Stevens  must  respect  his 
marksmanship,  when  Park  galloped  back 
to  him. 


84  The  Lure  of 

"  The  world  has  moved  some  while  we 
was  gone,"  he  announced  in  the  tone  of 
one  who  has  news  to  tell  and  enjoys  thor 
oughly  the  telling.  "  Yuh  mind  the  fel 
low  I  laid  out  in  the  hold-up?  He  got 
all  right  again,  and  they  stuck  him  in 
jail  along  with  another  one  old  Lauman, 
the  sheriff,  glommed  a  week  ago.  Well, 
they  didn't  do  a  thing  last  night  but 
knock  a  deputy  in  the  head,  annex  his 
gun,  swipe  a  Winchester  and  a  box  uh 
shells  out  uh  the  office  and  hit  the  high 
places.  Old  Lauman  is  hot  on  their  trail, 
but  he  ain't  met  up  with  'em  yet,  that  any 
body's  heard.  When  he  does,  there'll  sure 
be  something  doing!  They  say  the  dep 
uty's  about  all  in;  they  smashed  his  skull 
with  a  big  iron  poker." 

"  I  wish  I  could  handle  a  gun,"  Thurs- 
ton  said  between  his  teeth.  "  I'd  go  after 
them  myself.  I  wish  I'd  been  left  to 
grow  up  out  here  where  I  belong.  I'm 


the  Dim  Trails  85 

all  West  but  the  training — and  I  never 
knew  it  till  a  month  ago !  I  ought  to  ride 
and  rope  and  shoot  with  the  best  of  you 
— and  I  can't  do  a  thing.  All  I  know  is 
books.  I  can  criticise  an  opera  and  a  new 
play,  and  I'm  considered  something  of  an 

authority  on  clothes,  but  I  can't  shoot " 

"  Aw,  go  easy,"  Park  laughed  at  him. 
"What  if  yuh  can't  do  the  double-roll? 
Riding  and  shooting  and  roping's  all 
right — we  couldn't  very  well  get  along 
without  them  accomplishments.  But 
that's  all  they  are;  just  accomplishments. 
We  know  a  man  when  we  see  him,  and  it 
don't  matter  whether  he  can  ride  a  bronk 
straight  up,  or  don't  know  which  way  a 
saddle  sets  on  a  horse.  If  he's  a  man 
he  gets  as  square  a  deal  as  we  can  give 
him."  Park  reached  for  his  cigarette 
book.  "And  as  for  hunting  outlaws," 
he  finished,  "  we've  got  old  Lauman  paid 
to  do  that.  And  he's  dead  onto  his  job, 


86  The  Lure  of 

you  bet;  when  he  goes  out  after  a  man 
he  comes  pretty  near  getting  him,  m'son. 
But  I  sure  do  wish  I'd  killed  that  jasper 
while  I  was  about  it;  it  would  have  saved 
Lauman  a  lot  uh  hard  riding." 

Thurston  could  scarcely  explain  to 
Park  that  his  desire  to  hunt  train-robbers 
was  born  of  a  half-defiant  wish  to  vindi 
cate  to  Mona  Stevens  his  courage,  and  so 
he  said  nothing  at  all.  He  wondered  if 
Park  had  heard  her  whisper,  that  day, 
and  knew  how  he  had  failed  to  obey  her 
commands;  and  if  he  had  heard  her  call 
him  a  coward.  He  had  often  wondered 
that,  but  Park  had  a  way  of  keeping 
things  to  himself,  and  Thurston  could 
never  quite  bring  himself  to  open  the  sub 
ject  boldly.  At  any  rate,  if  Park  had 
heard,  he  hoped  that  he  understood  how 
it  was  and  did  not  secretly  despise  him 
for  it.  Women,  he  told  himself  bitterly, 
are  never  quite  just. 


the  Dim  Trails  87 

After  the  four  o'clock  supper  he  and 
Bob  MacGregor  went  up  the  valley  to 
relieve  the  men  on  herd.  There  was  one 
nice  thing  about  Park  as  a  foreman:  he 
tried  to  pair  off  his  crew  according  to 
their  congeniality.  That  was  why  Thurs- 
ton  usually  stood  guard  with  Bob,  whom 
he  liked  better  than  any  of  the  others — 
always  excepting  Park  himself. 

"  I  brought  my  gun  along,"  Bob  told 
him  apologetically  when  they  were  left 
to  themselves.  "  It's  a  habit  I've  got 
when  I  know  there's  bad  men  rampaging 
around  the  country.  The  boys  kinda 
gave  me  the  laugh  when  they  seen  me 
haul  it  out  uh  my  war  bag,  but  I  just 
told  'em  to  go  to  thunder." 

"  Do  you  think  those " 

"  Naw.  Uh  course  not.  I  just  pack 
it  on  general  principles,  same  as  an  old 
woman  packs  her  umbrell'." 

"  Say,  this  is  dead  easy!     The  bunch 


88  THe  Lure  oft 

is  pretty  well  broke,  ain't  it?  I'm  sure 
glad  to  see  old  Milk  River  again;  this 
here  trailing  cattle  gets  plumb  monoto 
nous."  He  got  down  and  settled  his  back 
comfortably  against  a  rock.  Below  them 
spread  the  herd,  feeding  quietly.  "  Yes, 
sir,  this  is  sure  a  snap,"  he  repeated,  after 
he  had  made  himself  a  smoke.  "  They's 
only  two  ways  a  bunch  could  drift  if  they 
wanted  to — which  they  don't — up  the 
river,  or  down.  This  hill's  a  little  too 
steep  for  'em  to  tackle  unless  they  was 
crowded  hard.  Good  feed  here,  too. 

:<  Too  bad  yuh  don't  smoke,  Bud. 
There's  nothing  like  a  good,  smooth  rock 
to  your  back  and  a  cigarette  in  your  face, 
on  a  nice,  lazy  day  like  this.  It's  the  only 
kind  uh  day-herding  I  got  any  use  for." 

"  I'll  take  the  rock  to  my  back,  if  you'll 
just  slide  along  and  make  room,"  Thurs- 
ton  laughed.  "  I  don't  hanker  for  a  cig 
arette,  but  I  do  wish  I  had  my  kodak." 


the  Dim  Trails  89 

"Aw,  fell  with  your  kodak!"  Bob 
snorted.  "  Can't  yuh  carry  this  layout  in 
your  head?  I've  got  a  picture  gallery  in 
mine  that  I  wouldn't  trade  for  a  farm; 
I  don't  need  no  kodak  in  mine,  thankye. 
You  just  let  this  here  view  soak  into  your 
system,  Bud,  where  yuh  can't  lose  it." 

Thurston  did.  Long  after  he  could 
close  his  eyes  and  see  it  in  every  detail: 
the  long,  green  slope  with  hundreds  of 
cattle  loitering  in  the  rank  grass-growth; 
the  winding  sweep  of  the  river  and  the 
green,  rolling  hills  beyond;  and  Bob 
leaning  against  the  rock  beside  him,  smok 
ing  luxuriously  with  half -closed  eyes, 
while  their  horses  dozed  with  drooping 
heads  a  rein-length  away. 

"Say,  Bud,"  Bob's  voice  drawled 
sleepily,  "  I  wisht  you'd  sing  that  Jeru 
salem  song.  I  want  to  learn  the  words 
to  it;  I'm  plumb  stuck  on  that  piece.  It's 
different  from  the  general  run  uh  songs, 


90  The  Lure  of 

don't  yuh  think?  Most  of  'em's  about 
your  old  home  that  yuh  left  in  boyhood's 
ha-a-appy  days,  and  go  back  to  find  your 
girl  dead  and  sleeping  in  a  little  church 
yard — or  else  it's  your  mother;  or  your 
girl  marries  the  other  man  and  you  get 
it  handed  to  yuh  right  along — and  they 
make  a  fellow  kinda  sick  to  his  stomach 
when  he's  got  to  sing  'em  two  or  three 
hours  at  a  stretch  on  night-guard,  just 
because  he's  plumb  ignorant  of  anything 
better.  This  here  Jerusalem  one  sounds 
kinda  grand,  and — the  cattle  seems  to 
like  it,  too,  for  a  change." 

"  The  composer  would  feel  flattered  if 
he  heard  that,"  Thurston  laughed.  He 
wanted  to  be  left  alone  to  day-dream  and 
watch  the  clouds  trail  lazily  across  to 
meet  the  hills;  and  there  was  an  embry 
onic  poem  forming,  phrase  by  phrase, 
in  his  mind.  But  he  couldn't  refuse  Bob 
anything,  so  he  sat  a  bit  straighter  and 


the  Dim  Trails  91 

cleared  his  throat.  He  sang  well — well 
enough  indeed  to  be  sought  after  at  in 
formal  affairs  among  his  set  at  home. 
When  he  came  to  the  refrain  Bob  took 
his  cigarette  from  between  his  lips  and 
held  it  in  his  fingers  while  he  joined  his 
voice  lustily  to  Thurston's: 

Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 
Lift  up  your  gates  and  sing 
Hosanna  in  the  high-est, 
Hosanna  to  your  King! 

The  near  cattle  lifted  their  heads  to 
stare  stupidly  a  moment,  then  moved  a 
few  steps  slowly,  nosing  for  the  sweetest 
grass-tufts.  The  horses  shifted  their 
weight,  resting  one  leg  with  the  hoof 
barely  touching  the  earth,  twitched  their 
ears  at  the  flies  and  slept  again. 

And  then  methought  my  dream  was  changed, 
The  streets  no  longer  rang, 
Hushed  were  the  glad  Hosannas 
The  little  children  sang 


92  The  Lure  of 

Tamale  lifted  his  head  and  gazed  in 
quiringly  up  the  hill;  but  Bob  was  not 
observant  of  signs  just  then.  He  was 
striving  with  his  recreant  memory  for  the 
words  that  came  after: 

The  sun  grew  dark  with  mystery, 
The  morn  was  cold  and  still, 
As  the  shadow  of  a  cross  arose 
Upon  a  lonely  hill. 

Tamale  stirred  restlessly  with  head  up 
lifted  and  ears  pointed  straight  before 
up  the  steep  bluff.  Old  Ironsides,  Thurs- 
ton's  mount,  was  not  the  sort  to  worry 
about  anything  but  his  feed,  and  paid 
no  attention.  Bob  turned  and  glanced 
the  way  Tamale  was  looking;  saw  noth 
ing,  and  settled  down  again  on  the  small 
of  his  back. 

"  He  sees  a  badger  or  something,"  he 
said.    "  Go  on,  Bud,  with  the  chorus." 

Jerusalem,  Jerusalem, 
Lift  up  your  gates  and  sing 


the  Dim  Trails  93 

"Lift  up  your  hands  damn  quick!" 
mimicked  a  voice  just  behind.  "  If  yuh 
ain't  got  anything  to  do  but  lay  in  the 
shade  of  a  rock  and  yawp,  we'll  borrow 
your  cayuses.  You  ain't  needin'  'em,  by 
the  looks!" 

They  squirmed  around  until  they  could 
stare  into  two  black  gun-barrels — and 
then  their  hands  went  up;  their  faces 
held  a  particularly  foolish  expression  that 
must  have  been  amusing  to  the  men  be 
hind  the  guns. 

One  of  the  gun-barrels  lowered  and  a 
hand  reached  out  and  quietly  took  pos 
session  of  Tamale's  reins;  the  owner  of 
the  hand  got  calmly  into  Bob's  saddle. 
Bob  gritted  his  teeth.  It  was  evident 
their  movements  had  been  planned  mi 
nutely  in  advance,  for,  once  settled  to 
his  liking,  the  fellow  tested  the  stirrups 
to  make  sure  they  were  the  right  length, 
and  raising  his  gun  pointed  it  at  the  two 


94  The  Lure  of 

in  a  business-like  manner  that  left  no 
doubt  of  his  meaning.  Whereupon  the 
man  behind  them  came  forward  and 
appropriated  Old  Ironsides  to  his  own 
use. 

"  Too  bad  we  had  to  interrupt  Sun 
day-school,"  he  remarked  ironically. 
"  You  can  go  ahead  with  the  meetin' 
now — the  collection  has  been  took  up." 
He  laughed  without  any  real  mirth  in  his 
voice  and  gathered  up  the,  reins.  "If 
yuh  want  our  horses,  they're  up  on  the 
bench.  I  don't  reckon  they'll  ever  turn 
another  cow,  but  such  as  they  are  you're 
quite  welcome.  Better  set  still,  boys,  till 
we  get  out  uh  sight;  one  of  us'll  keep  an 
eye  peeled  for  yuh.  So  long,  and  much 
obliged."  They  turned  and  rode  warily 
down  the  slope. 

"  Now,  wouldn't  that  jar  yuh?  "  asked 
Bob  in  deep  disgust.  His  hands  dropped 
to  his  sides;  in  another  second  he  was  up 


A  rifle  cracked  and  Bob  toppled  limply  -to  the  grass. 


Page  95 


the  Dim  Trails  95 

and  shooting  savagely.  "  Get  behind  the 
rock,  Bud,"  he  commanded. 

Just  then  a  rifle  cracked,  and  Bob 
toppled  drunkenly  and  went  limply  to 
the  grass. 

"My  God!"  cried  Thurston,  and 
didn't  know  that  he  spoke.  He  snatched 
up  Bob's  revolver  and  fired  shot  after 
shot  at  the  galloping  figures.  Not  one 
seemed  to  do  any  good;  the  first  shot  hit 
a  two-year-old  square  in  the  ribs.  After 
that  there  were  no  cattle  within  rifle 
range. 

One  of  the  outlaws  stopped,  took  de 
liberate  aim  with  the  stolen  Winchester 
and  fired,  meaning  to  kill;  but  he  miscal 
culated  the  range  a  bit  and  Thurston 
crumpled  down  with  a  bullet  in  his  thigh. 
The  revolver  was  empty  now  and  fell 
smoking  at  his  feet.  So  he  lay  and 
cursed  impotently  while  he  watched  the 
marauders  ride  out  of  sight  up  the  valley. 


96  The  Lure  of 

When  the  rank  timber-growth  hid  their 
flying  figures  he  crawled  over  to  where 
Bob  lay  and  tried  to  lift  him. 

"  Art  you  hurt?  "  was  the  idiotic  ques 
tion  he  asked. 

Bob  opened  his  eyes  and  waited  a 
breath,  as  if  to  steady  his  thought.  "  Did 
I  get  one,  Bud?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  Thurston  confessed, 
and  immediately  after  wished  that  he  had 
lied  and  said  yes.  "Are  you  hurt?"  he 
repeated  senselessly. 

"Who,  me?"  Bob's  eyes  wavered  in 
their  directness.  "Don't  yuh  bother 
none  about  me"  evasively. 

"But  you've  got  to  tell  me.  You — 
they — "  He  choked  over  the  words. 

"  Well — I  guess  they  got  me,  all  right. 
But  don't  let  that  worry  yuh;  it  don't 
me."  He  tried  to  speak  carelessly  and 
convincingly,  but  it  was  a  miserable  fail 
ure.  He  did  not  want  to  die — did  Bob 


the  Dim  Trails  97 

— however  much  he  might  try  to  hide  the 
fact. 

Thurston  was  not  in  the  least  imposed 
upon.  He  turned  away  his  head,  pre 
tending  to  look  after  the  outlaws,  and 
set  his  teeth  together  tight.  He  did  not 
want  to  act  a  fool.  All  at  once  he  grew 
dizzy  and  sick,  and  lay  down  heavily  till 
the  f  aintness  passed. 

Bob  tried  to  lift  himself  to  his  elbow; 
failing  that,  he  put  out  a  hand  and  laid 
it  on  Thurston's  shoulder.  "Did  they 
— get  you — too?"  he  queried  anxiously. 
"The  damn  coyotes!" 

"It's  nothing;  just  a  leg  put  out  of 
business,"  Thurston  hurried  to  assure 
him.  "  Where  are  you  hurt,  Bob?  " 

"Aw,  I  ain't  any  X-ray,"  Bob  re 
torted  weakly  but  gamely.  "  Some- 
wheres  inside  uh  me.  It  went  in  my  side 
— but  the  Lord  knows — where  it  wound 
—up.  It  hurts,  like— the  devil."  He 


98  The  Lure  of 

lay  quiet  a  minute.  "I  wish — do  yuh 
feel — like  finishing — that  song,  Bud?  " 

Thurston  gulped  down  a  lump  that 
was  making  his  throat  ache.  When  he 
answered,  his  voice  was  very  gentle. 
"  I'll  try  a  verse,  old  man." 

"  The  last  one — we'd  just  come — to 
the  last.  It's  most  like — church.  I — I 
never  went — much — on  religion,  Bud; 
but  when — a  fellow's — going  out — over 
the  Big  Divide " 

6  You're  not !  "  Thurston  contradicted 
fiercely,  as  if  that  could  make  it  differ 
ent.  He  thought  he  could  not  bear  those 
jerky  sentences. 

"  All  right— Bud.  We  won't  fight- 
over  it.  Go  ahead.  The  last  verse." 

Thurston  eased  his  leg  to  a  better 
position,  drew  himself  up  till  his  shoul 
ders  rested  against  the  rock  and  began, 
with  an  occasional,  odd  break  in  his 
voice: 


the  Dim  Trails  09 

I  saw  the  holy  city 

Beside  the  tideless  sea; 

The  light  of  God  was  on  it's  street, 

The  gates  were  open  wide, 
And  all  who  would  might  enter 

And  no  one  was  denied. 

"Wonder  if  that  there — applies — to 
bone-headed — cowpunchers,"  Bob  mut 
tered  drowsily.  "  '  And  all  —  who 
would '" 

Thurston  glanced  quickly  at  his  face; 
caught  his  breath  sharply  at  what  he  saw 
there  written,  and  dropped  his  head  upon 
his  arms. 

And  so  Park  and  his  men,  hurrying  to 
the  sound  of  the  shooting,  found  them  in 
the  shadow  of  the  rock. 


100  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER   VII 

AT  THE   STEVENS   PLACE 


HEN  the  excitement  of  the 
outrage  had  been  pushed 
aside  by  the  insistent  routine 
of  everyday  living,  Thurston 
found  himself  thrust  from  the  fascina 
tion  of  range  life  and  into  the  monotony 
of  invalidism,  and  he  was  anything  but 
resigned.  To  be  sure,  he  was  well  cared 
for  at  the  Stevens  ranch,  where  Park  and 
the  boys  had  taken  him  that  day,  and  Mrs. 
Stevens  mothered  him  as  he  could  not  re 
member  being  mothered  before. 

Hank  Graves  rode  over  nearly  every 
day  to  sit  beside  the  bed  and  curse  the 


the  Dim  Trails  101 

Wagner  gang  back  to  their  great-great 
grandfathers  and  down  to  more  than  the 
third  generation  yet  unborn,  and  to  tell 
him  the  news.  On  the  second  visit  he 
started  to  give  him  the  details  of  Bob's 
funeral;  but  Thurston  would  not  listen, 
and  told  him  so  plainly. 

"All  right  then,  Bud,  I  won't  talk 
about  it.  But  we  sure  done  the  right 
thing  by  the  boy;  had  the  best  preacher 
in  Shellanne  out,  and  flowers  till  further 
notice:  a  cross  uh  carnations,  and  the 
boys  sent  up  to  Minot  and  had  a  spur 
made  uh — oh,  well,  all  right;  I'll  shut  up 
about  it.  I  know  how  yuh  feel,  Bud;  it 
broke  us  all  up  to  have  him  go  that  way. 
He  sure  was  a  white  boy,  if  ever  there 
was  one,  and — ahem!  " 

"  I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars,  hard 
coin,  to  get  my  hands  on  them  Wagners. 
It  would  uh  been  all  off  with  them,  sure, 
if  the  boys  had  run  acrost  'em.  I'd  uh 


102 


THe  Lure  of( 


let  'em  stay  out  and  hunt  a  while  longer, 
only  old  Lauman'll  get  'em,  all  right, 
and  we're  late  as  it  is  with  the  calf 
roundup.  Lauman'll  run  'em  down — 
and  by  the  Lord!  I'll  hire  Bowman  my 
self  and  ship  him  out  from  Helena  to 
help  prosecute  'em. 
They're  dead  men  if  he 
takes  the  case  against 
'em,  Bud,  and  I'll  get 
him,  sure — and  to  hell 
with  the  cost  of  it! 
They'll  swing  for  what 
they  done  to  you  and 
Bob,  if  it  takes  every 
hoof  I  own." 

Thurston  told  him 
he  hoped  they  would 
be  caught  and — yes, 
hanged;  though  he  had 
never  before  advocated 
capital  punishment. 


w  ^ 


the  Dim  Trails  108 

But  when  he  thought  of  Bob,  the  care- 
naught,  whole-souled  fellow —  He  tried 
not  to  think  of  him,  for  thinking  un 
manned  him.  He  had  the  softest  of 
hearts  where  his  friends  were  concerned, 
and  there  were  times  when  he  felt  that 
he  could  with  relish  officiate  at  the  Wag 
ners'  execution. 

He  fought  against  remembrance  of 
that  day;  and  for  sake  of  diversion  he 
took  to  studying  a  large,  pastel  portrait 
of  Mona  which  hung  against  the  wall 
opposite  his  bed.  It  was  rather  badly, 
done,  and  at  first,  when  he  saw  it,  he 
laughed  at  the  thought  that  even  the* 
great,  still  plains  of  the  range-land  can 
not  protect  one  against  the  ubiquitous 
picture  agent.  In  the  parlor,  he  sup 
posed  there  would  be  crayon  pictures  of 
grandmothers  and  aunts — further  evi 
dence  of  the  agent's  glibness. 

He  was  glad  that  it  was  Mona  who 


104  The  Lure  of 

smiled  down  at  him  instead  of  a  grand 
mother  or  an  aunt.  For  Mona  did  smile, 
and  in  spite  of  the  cheap  crudity  the  smile 
was  roguish,  with  little  dimply  creases  at 
the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  not  at  all 
unpleasant.  If  the  girl  would  only  look 
like  that  in  real  life,  he  told  himself,  a 
fellow  would  probably  get  to  liking  her. 
He  supposed  she  thought  him  a  greater 
coward  than  ever  now,  just  because  he 
hadn't  got  killed.  If  he  had,  he  would 
be  a  hero  now,  like  Bob.  Well,  Bob  was 
a  hero;  the  way  he  had  jumped  up  and 
begun  shooting  required  courage  of  the 
suicidal  sort.  He  had  stood  up  and  shot, 
also — and  had  succeeded  only  in  being 
ridiculous;  he  hoped  nobody  had  told 
Mona  about  his  hitting  that  steer.  When 
he  could  walk  again  he  would  learn  to 
shoot,  so  that  the  range  stock  wouldn't 
suffer  from  his  marksmanship. 

After   a   week   of   seeing   only   Mrs. 


the  Dim  Trails  105 

Stevens  or  sympathetic  men  acquaint 
ances,  he  began  to  wonder  why  Mona 
stayed  so  persistently  away.  Then  one 
morning  she  came  in  to  take  his  break 
fast  things  out.  She  did  not,  however, 
stay  a  second  longer  than  was  absolutely 
necessary,  and  she  was  perfectly  com 
posed  and  said  good  morning  in  her  most 
impersonal  tone.  At  least  Thurston 
hoped  she  had  no  tone  more  impersonal 
than  that.  He  decided  that  she  had  really 
beautiful  eyes  and  hair;  after  she  had 
gone  he  looked  up  at  the  picture,  told 
himself  that  it  did  not  begin  to  do  her 
justice,  and  sighed  a  bit.  He  was  very 
dull,  and  even  her  companionship,  he 
thought,  would  be  pleasant  if  only  she 
would  come  down  off  her  pedestal  and 
be  humanly  sociable. 

When  he  wrote  a  story  about  a  fellow 
being  laid  up  in  the  same  house  with  a 
girl — a  girl  with  big,  blue-gray  eyes  and 


106  The  Lure  of 

ripply  brown  hair — he  would  have  the 
girl  treat  the  fellow  at  least  decently. 
She  would  read  poetry  to  him  and  bring 
him  flowers,  and  do  ever  so  many  nice 
things  that  would  make  him  hate  to  get 
well.  He  decided  that  he  would  write 
just  that  kind  of  story;  he  would  idealize 
it,  of  course,  and  have  the  fellow  in  love 
with  the  girl;  you  have  to,  in  stories.  In 
real  life  it  doesn't  necessarily  follow  that, 
because  a  fellow  admires  a  girl's  hair  and 
eyes,  and  wants  to  be  on  friendly  terms, 
he  is  in  love  with  her.  For  example,  he 
emphatically  was  not  in  love  with  Mona 
Stevens.  He  only  wanted  her  to  be  de 
cently  civil  and  to  stop  holding  a  foolish 
grudge  against  him  for  not  standing  up 
and  letting  himself  be  shot  full  of  holes 
because  she  commanded  it. 

In  the  afternoons  Mrs.  Stevens  would 
sit  beside  him  and  knit  things  and  talk 
to  him  in  a  pleasantly  garrulous  fashion, 


the  Dim  Trails  107 

and  he  would  lie  and  listen  to  her — and 
to  Mona,  singing  somewhere.  Mona 
sang  very  well,  he  thought;  he  wondered 
if  she  had  ever  had  any  training.  Alsol 
he  wished  he  dared  ask  her  not  to  sing 
that  song  about  "  She's  only  a  bird  in 
a  gilded  cage."  It  brought  back  too 
vividly  the  nights  when  he  and  Bob  stood 
guard  under  the  quiet  stars. 

And  then  one  day  he  hobbled  out  into 
the  dining-room  and  ate  dinner  with  the 
family.  Since  he  sat  opposite  Mona  she 
was  obliged  to  look  at  him  occasionally, 
whether  she  would  or  no.  Thurston  had 
a  strain  of  obstinacy  in  his  nature,  and 
when  he  decided  that  Mona  should  not 
only  look  at  him,  but  should  talk  to  him 
as  well,  he  set  himself  diligently  to  attain 
that  end.  He  was  not  the  man  to  sit 
down  supinely  and  let  a  girl  calmly 
ignore  him;  so  Mona  presently  found 
herself  talking  to  him  with  some  degree 


108  TKe  Lure  of 

of  cordiality;  and  what  is  more  to  the 
point,  listening  to  him  when  he  talked. 
It  is  probable  that  Thurston  never  had 
tried  so  hard  in  his  life  to  win  a  girl's 
attention. 

It  was  while  he  was  still  hobbling  with 
a  cane  and  taxing  his  imagination  daily 
to  invent  excuses  for  remaining,  that 
Lauman,  the  sheriff,  rode  up  to  the  door 
with  a  deputy  and  asked  shelter  for 
themselves  and  the  two  Wagners,  who 
glowered  sullenly  down  from  their  weary 
horses.  When  they  had  been  safely  dis 
posed  in  Thurston's  bedroom,  with  one 
of  the  ranch  hands  detailed  to  guard 
them,  Lauman  and  his  man  gave  them 
selves  up  to  the  joy  of  a  good  meal. 
Their  own  cooking,  they  said,  got  mighty 
tame — especially  when  they  hadn't  much 
to  cook  and  dared  not  have  a  fire. 

They  had  come  upon  the  outlaws  by 
mere  accident,  and  it  is  hard  telling  which 


the  Dim  Trails  109 

was  the  most  surprised.  But  Lauman 
was,  perhaps,  the  quickest  man  with  a 
gun  in  Valley  County — else  he  would  not 
have  been  serving  his  fourth  term  as 
sheriff.  He  got  the  drop  and  kept  it 
while  his  deputy  did  the  rest.  It  had 
been  a  hard  chase,  he  said,  and  a  long  one 
if  you  counted  time  instead  of  miles. 
But  he  had  them  now,  harmless  as  rat 
tlers  with  their  fangs  fresh  drawn.  He 
wanted  to  get  them  to  Glasgow  before 
people  got  to  hear  of  their  capture;  he 
thought  they  wouldn't  be  any  too  safe  if 
the  boys  knew  he  had  them. 

If  he  had  known  that  the  Lazy  Eight 
roundup  had  just  pulled  in  to  the  home 
ranch  that  afternoon,  and  that  Dick 
Farney,  one  of  the  Stevens  men,  had 
slipped  out  to  the  corral  and  saddled  his 
swiftest  horse,  it  is  quite  possible  that 
Lauman  would  not  have  lingered  so  long 
over  his  supper,  or  drank  his  third  cup 


110  The  Lure  of 

of  coffee — with  real  cream  in  it — with  so 
great  a  relish.  And  if  he  had  known 
that  the  Circle  Bar  boys  were  camped 
just  three  miles  away  within  hailing  dis 
tance  of  the  Lazy  Eight  trail,  he  would 
doubtless  have  postponed  his  after-sup 
per  smoke. 

He  was  sitting,  revolver  in  hand, 
watching  the  Wagners  give  a  practical 
demonstration  of  the  extent  of  their  ap 
petites,  when  Thurston  limped  in  from 
the  porch,  his  eyes  darker  than  usual. 
"  There  are  a  lot  of  riders  coming,  Mr. 
Lauman,"  he  announced  quietly.  "  It 
sounds  like  a  whole  roundup.  I  thought 
you  ought  to  know." 

The  prisoners  went  white,  and  put 
down  knife  and  fork.  If  they  had  never 
feared  before,  plainly  they  were  afraid 
then. 

Lauman's  face  did  not  in  the  least 
change.  "Put  the  hand-cuffs  on, 


the  Dim  Trails  111 

Waller,"  he  said.  "  If  you've  got  a  room 
that  ain't  easy  to  get  at  from  the  outside, 
Mrs.  Stevens,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  ask 
yuh  for  the  use  of  it." 

Mrs.  Stevens  had  lived  long  in  Valley 
County,  and  had  learned  how  to  meet 
emergencies.  "  Put  'em  right  down  cel 
lar,"  she  invited  briskly.  "  There's  just 
the  trap-door  into  it,  and  the  windows 
ain't  big  enough  for  a  cat  to  go  through. 
Mona,  get  a  candle  for  Mr.  Lauman." 
She  turned  to  hurry  the  girl,  and  found 
Mona  at  her  elbow  with  a  light. 

"  That's  the  kind  uh  woman  I  like  to 
have  around,"  Lauman  chuckled.  "  Come 
on,  boys;  hustle  down  there  if  yuh  want 
to  see  Glasgow  again." 

Trembling,  all  their  dare-devil  courage 
sapped  from  them  by  the  menace  of 
Thurston's  words,  they  stumbled  down  the 
steep  stairs,  and  the  darkness  swallowed 
them.  Lauman  beckoned  to  his  deputy. 


112  The  Lure  of 

"  You  go  with  'em,  Waller,"  he  or 
dered.  "If  anybody  but  me  offers  to 
lift  this  trap,  shoot.  Don't  yuh  take  any 
chances.  Blow  out  that  candle  soon  as 
you're  located." 

It  was  then  that  fifty  riders  clattered 
into  the  yard  and  up  to  the  front  door, 
grouping  in  a  way  that  left  no  exit  un 
seen.  Thurston,  standing  in  the  door 
way,  knew  them  almost  to  a  man.  Lazy 
Eight  boys,  they  were;  men  who  night 
after  night  had  spread  their  blankets 
under  the  tent-roof  with  him — and  with 
Bob  MacGregor;  Bob,  who  lay  silently 
out  on  the  hill  back  of  the  home  ranch- 
house,  waiting  for  the  last,  great  round 
up.  They  glanced  at  him  in  mute  greet 
ing  and  dismounted  without  a  word. 
With  them  mingled  the  Circle  Bar  boys, 
as  silent  and  grim  as  their  fellows. 
Lauman  came  up  and  peered  into  the 
dusk;  Thurston  observed  that  he  car- 


the  Dim  Trails  113 

ried  his  Winchester  unobtrusively  in  one 
hand. 

"  Why,  hello,  boys,"  he  greeted  cheer 
fully.  But  for  the  rifle  you  never  would 
have  guessed  he  knew  their  errand. 

"  Hello,  Lauman,"  answered  Park, 
matching  him  for  cheerfulness.  Then: 
"  We  rode  over  to  hang  them  Wagners." 

Lauman  grinned.  "  I  hate  to  disap 
point  yuh,  Park,  but  I've  kinda  set  my 
heart  on  doing  that  litle  job  myself.  I'm 
the  one  that  caught  'em,  and  if  you'd  fol 
lowed  my  trail  the  last  month  you'd  say 
I  earned  the  privilege." 

"  Maybe  so,"  Park  admitted  pleas 
antly,  "  but  we've  got  a  little  personal 
matter  to  settle  up  with  those  jaspers. 
Bob  MacGregor  was  one  of  us,  yuh  re 
member." 

"  I'll  hang  'em  just  as  dead  as  you  can," 
Lauman  argued. 

"  But  yuh  won't  do  it  so  quick,"  Park 


114  The  Lure  of 

flashed  back.  "  They're  spoiling  the  air 
every  breath  they  draw.  We  want  'em, 
and  I  guess  that  pretty  near  settles  it." 

"  Not  by  a  damn  sight  it  don't !  I've 
never  had  a  man  took  away  from  me  yet, 
boys,  and  I've  been  your  sheriff  a  good 
many  years.  You  hike  right  back  to 
camp ;  yuh  can't  have  'em." 

Thurston  could  scarcely  realize  the 
deadliness  of  their  purpose.  He  knew 
them  for  kind-hearted,  laughter-loving 
young  fellows,  who  would  give  their  last 
dollar  to  a  friend.  He  could  not  believe 
that  they  would  resort  to  violence  now. 
Besides,  this  was  not  his  idea  of  a  mob; 
he  had  fancied  they  would  howl  threats 
and  wave  bludgeons,  as  they  did  in  sto 
ries.  Mobs  always  "  howled  and  seethed 
with  passion  "  at  one's  doors ;  they  did  not 
stand  about  and  talk  quietly  as  though 
the  subject  was  trivial  and  did  not  greatly 
concern  them. 


the  Dim  Trail*  115 

But  the  men  were  pressing  closer,  and 
their  very  calmness,  had  he  known  it,  was 
ominous.  Lauman  shifted  his  rifle  ready 
for  instant  aim. 

"  Boys,  look  here,"  he  began  more 
gravely,  "  I  can't  say  I  blame  yuh,  look 
ing  at  it  from  your  view-point.  If  you'd 
caught  these  men  when  yuh  was  out  hunt 
ing  'em,  you  could  uh  strung  'em  up — 
and  I'd  likely  uh  had  business  somewhere 
else  about  that  time.  But  yuh  didn't 
catch  'em;  yuh  give  up  the  chase  and  left 
'em  to  me.  And  yuh  got  to  remember 
that  I'm  the  one  that  brought  'em  in. 
They're  in  my  care.  I'm  sworn  to  pro 
tect  'em  and  turn  'em  over  to  the  law — 
and  it  ain't  a  question  uh  whether  they  de 
serve  it  or  not.  That's  what  I'm  paid  for, 
and  I  expect  to  go  right  ahead  according 
to  orders  and  hang  'em  by  law.  You  can't 
have  'em — unless  yuh  lay  me  out  first,  and  I 
don't  reckon  any  of  yuh  would  go  that  far." 


116  The  Lure  of 

"  There's  never  been  a  man  hung  by  law 
in  this  county  yet,"  a  voice  cried  angrily 
and  impatiently. 

"  That  ain't  saying  there  never  will  be," 
Lauman  flung  back.  "  Don't  yuh  worry 
— they'll  get  all  that's  coming  to  them,  all 
right." 

"  How  about  the  time  yuh  had  'em  in 
your  rotten  old  jail,  and  let  'em  get  out 
and  run  loose  around  the  country,  killing 
off  white  men? "  drawled  another — a 
Circle-Bar  man. 

"Now  boys -" 

A  hand — the  hand  of  him  who  had 
stood  guard  over  the  Wagners  in  the 
bedroom  during  supper — reached  out 
through  the  doorway  and  caught  his  rifle 
arm.  Taken  unawares  from  behind,  he 
whirled  and  then  went  down  under  the 
weight  of  men  used  to  "  wrassling " 
calves.  Even  old  Lauman  was  no  match 
for  them,  and  presently  he  found  him- 


the  Dim  Trails  117 

self  stretched  upon  the  porch  with  three 
Lazy  Eight  boys  sitting  on  his  person; 
which,  being  inclined  to  portliness,  he 
found  very  uncomfortable. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  he  had  no  name 
for,  Thurston  snatched  the  sheriff's  re 
volver  from  its  scabbard.  As  the  heap 
squirmed  pantingly  upon  the  porch  he 
stepped  into  the  doorway  to  avoid  being 
tripped,  which  was  the  wisest  move  he 
could  have  made,  for  it  put  him  in  the 
shadow — and  there  were  men  of  the  Cir 
cle  Bar  whose  trigger-finger  would  not 
have  hesitated,  just  then,  had  he  been  in 
plain  sight  and  had  they  known  his  pur 
pose. 

"  Just  hold  on  there,  boys,"  he  called, 
and  they  could  see  the  glimmer  of  the 
gun-barrel.  Those  of  the  Lazy  Eight 
laughed  at  him. 

"  Aw,  put  it  down,  Bud,"  Park  admon 
ished.  "  That's  too  dangerous  a  toy  for 


118  The  Lure  of 

you  to  be  playing  with — and  yuh  know 
damn  well  yuh  can't  hit  anything." 

"  I  killed  a  steer  once,"  Thurston  re 
minded  him  meekly,  whereat  the  laugh 
hushed;  for  they  remembered. 

"  I  know  I  can't  shoot  straight,"  he 
went  on  frankly,  "  but  you're  taking  that 
much  the  greater  chance.  If  I  have  to, 
I'll  cut  loose — and  there's  no  telling 
where  the  bullets  may  strike." 

"That's  right,"  Park  admitted. 
"  Stand  still,  boys;  he's  more  danger 
ous  than  a  gun  that  isn't  loaded.  What 
d'yuh  want,  m'son? " 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  about  five 
minutes.  I've  got  a  game  leg,  so  that  I 
can  neither  run  nor  fight,  but  I  hope 
you'll  listen  to  me.  The  Wagners  can't 
get  away — they're  locked  up,  with  a  dep 
uty  standing  over  them  with  a  gun; 
and  on  top  of  that  they're  handcuffed. 
They're  as  helpless,  boys,  as  two  trapped 


the  Dim  Trails 


119 


coyotes."  He  looked  down  over  the 
crowd,  which  shifted  uneasily;  no  one 
spoke. 

"  That's  what  struck  me  most,"  he  con 
tinued.  "  You  know  what  I  thought  of 
Bob,  don't  you?  And  I  didn't  thank 
them  for  boring  a  hole  in  my  leg;  it 
wasn't  any  kindness  of  theirs  that  it 
didn't  land  higher — they  weren't  shoot 
ing  at  me  for  fun.  And  I'd  have  killed 
them  both  with  a  clear  conscience,  if  I 
could.  I  tried  hard  enough.  But  it  was 
different  then;  out  in  the  open,  where  a 
man  had  an  even  break.  I  don't  believe 
if  I  had  shot  as  straight  as  I  wanted  to 
that  I'd  ever  have  felt  a  moment's  com 
punction.  But  now,  when  they're  dis 
armed  and  shackled  and  alto 
gether  helpless,  I  couldn't  walk  A 
up  to  them  deliberately  and  kill 
them — could  you? 

"  It  could  be  done,  and  done 


120  The  Lure  of 

easily.  You  have  Lauman  where  he  can't 
do  anything,  and  I'm  not  of  much  account 
in  a  fight;  so  you've  really  only  one  dep 
uty  sheriff  and  two  women  to  get  the 
best  of.  You  could  drag  these  men  out 
and  hang  them  in  the  cottonwoods,  and 
they  couldn't  raise  a  hand  to  defend  them 
selves.  We  could  do  it  easily — but  when 
it  was  done  and  the  excitement  had 
passed  I'd  have  a  picture  in  my  memory 
that  I'd  hate  to  look  at.  I'd  have  an 
hour  in  my  life  that  would  haunt  me. 
And  so  would  you.  You'd  hate  to  look 
back  and  think  that  one  time  you  helped 
kill  a  couple  of  men  who  couldn't  fight 
back. 

"  Let  the  law  do  it,  boys.  You  don't 
want  them  to  live,  and  I  don't;  nobody 
does,  for  they  deserve  to  die.  But  it  isn't 
for  us  to  play  judge  and  jury  and  hang 
man  here  to-night.  Let  them  get  what's 
coming  to  them  at  the  hands  of  the  offi- 


the  Dim  Trails  121 

cers  you've  elected  for  that  purpose. 
They  won't  get  off.  Hank  Graves  says 
they  will  hang  if  it  takes  every  hoof  he 
owns.  He  said  he  would  bring  Bowman 
down  here  to  help  prosecute  them.  I 
don't  know  Bowman " 

"  I  do,"  a  voice  spoke,  somewhere  in 
the  darkness.  "  Lawyer  from  Helena. 
Never  lost  a  case." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  for  he's  the  man 
that  will  prosecute.  They  haven't  a  ghost 
of  a  show  to  get  out  of  it.  Lauman  here 
is  responsible  for  their  safe  keeping — 
and  I  guess,  now  that  he  knows  them 
better,  we  needn't  be  afraid  they'll  escape 
again.  And  it's  as  Lauman  said;  he'll 
hang  them  quite  as  dead  as  you  can. 
He's  drawing  a  salary  to  do  these  things 
— make  him  earn  it.  It's  a  nasty  job, 
boys,  and  you  wouldn't  get  anything  out 
of  it  but  a  nasty  memory." 

A  hand  that  did  not  feel  like  the  hand 


122  The  Lure  of 

of  a  man  rested  for  an  instant  on  his  arm. 
Mona  brushed  by  him  and  stepped  out 
where  the  rising  moon  shone  on  her  hair 
and  into  her  big,  blue-gray  eyes. 

"  I  wish  you  all  would  please  go  away," 
she  said.  "  You  are  making  mamma  sick. 
She's  got  it  in  her  head  that  you  are  going 
to  do  something  awful,  and  I  can't  con 
vince  her  you're  not.  I  told  her  you 
wouldn't  do  anything  so  sneaking,  but 
she's  awfully  nervous  about  it.  Won't 
you  please  go,  right  now? " 

They  looked  sheepishly  at  one  another; 
every  man  of  them  feared  the  ridicule  of 
his  neighbor. 

"  Why,  sure  we'll  go,"  cried  Park, 
rallying.  "  We  were  going  anyway  in  a 
minute.  Tell  your  mother  we  were  just 
congratulating  Lauman  on  rounding  up 
these  Wagners.  Come  on,  boys.  And 
you,  Bud,  hurry  up  and  get  well  again; 
we  miss  yuh  round  the  Lazy  Eight." 


the  Dim  Trails  123 

The  three  who  were  sitting  on  Lauman 
got  up,  and  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Say,  yuh  darned  cowpunchers  don't 
have  no  mercy  on  an  old  man's  carcass 
at  all,"  he  groaned,  in  exaggerated  self- 
pity.  "  Next  time  yuh  want  to  congratu 
late  me,  I  wish  you'd  put  it  in  writing 
and  send  it  by  mail." 

A  little  ripple  of  laughter  went 
through  the  crowd.  Then  they  swung 
up  on  their  horses  and  galloped  away  in 
the  moonlight. 


124  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A  QUESTION    OF   NERVE 

HAT  was  your  victory,  Miss 
Stevens.  Allow  me  to  con 
gratulate  you."  If  Thurston 
showed  any  ill  grace  in  his 
tone  it  was  without  intent.  But  it  did 
seem  unfortunate  that  just  as  he  was  wax 
ing  eloquent  and  felt  sure  of  himself  and 
something  of  a  hero,  Mona  should  push 
him  aside  as  though  he  were  of  no  ac 
count  and  disperse  a  bunch  of  angry  cow 
boys  with  half  a  dozen  words. 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  direct,  blue- 
gray  eyes,  and  smiled.  And  her  smile 
had  no  unpleasant  uplift  at  the  corners; 


the  Dim  Trails  125 

it  was  the  dimply,  roguish  smile  of  the 
pastel  portrait — only  several  times  nicer. 
He  could  hardly  believe  it;  he  just 
opened  his  eyes  wide  and  stared.  When 
he  came  to  a  sense  of  his  rudeness,  Mona 
was  back  in  the  kitchen  helping  with  the 
supper  dishes,  just  as  though  nothing 
had  happened — unless  one  observed  the 
deep,  apple-red  of  her  cheeks — while  her 
mother,  who  showed  not  the  faintest 
symptoms  of  collapse,  flourished  a  dish 
towel  made  of  a  bleached  flour  sack  with 
the  stamp  showing  a  faint  pink  and  blue 
XXXX  across  the  center. 

"  I  knew  all  the  time  they  wouldn't 
do  anything  when  it  came  right  to  the 
point,"  she  declared.  "  Bless  their  hearts, 
they  thought  they  would — but  they're  too 
soft-hearted,  even  when  they  are  mad. 
If  yuh  go  at  'em  right  yuh  can  talk  'em 
over  easy.  It  done  me  good  to  hear  yuh 
talk  right  up  to  'em,  Bud."  Mrs.  Stevens 


126  The  Lure  of 

had  called  him  Bud  from  the  first  time 
she  laid  eyes  on  him.  "  That's  all  under 
the  sun  they  needed — just  somebody  to 
set  'em  thinking  about  the  other  side. 
You're  a  real  good  speaker;  seems  to  me 
you  ought  to  study  to  be  a  preacher." 

Thurston's  face  turned  red.  But  pres 
ently  he  forgot  everything  in  his  amaze 
ment,  for  Mona  the  dignified,  Mona  of 
the  scornful  eyes  and  the  chilly  smile, 
actually  giggled — giggled  like  any  or 
dinary  girl,  and  shot  him  a  glance  that 
had  in  it  pure  mirth  and  roguish  teasing, 
and  a  dash  of  coquetry.  He  sat  down 
and  giggled  with  her,  feeling  idiotically 
happy  and  for  no  reason  under  the  sun 
that  he  could  name. 

He  had  promised  his  conscience  that  he 
would  go  home  to  the  Lazy  Eight  in  the 
morning,  but  he  didn't;  he  somehow  con 
trived,  overnight,  to  invent  a  brand  new 
excuse  for  his  conscience  to  swallow  or 


the  Dim  Trails 


127 


not,  as  it  liked.  Hank  Graves  had  the 
same  privilege;  as  for  the  Stevens  trio, 
he  blessed  their  hospitable  souls  for  not 
wanting  any  excuse  whatever  for  his 
staying.  They  were  frankly  glad  to  have 
him  there;  at  least  Mrs.  Stevens  and  Jack 
were.  As  for  Mona,  he  was  not  so  sure, 
but  he  hoped  she  didn't  mind. 

This  was  the  reason  inspired  by  his 
great  desire:  he  was  going  to  write  a 
story,  and  Mona  was  unconsciously  to 
furnish  the  material  for  his  heroine,  and 
so,  of  course,  he  needed  to  be  there  so 


128  The  Lure  of 

that  he  might  study  his  subject.  That 
sounded  very  well,  to  himself,  but  to 
Hank  Graves,  for  some  reason,  it  seemed 
very  funny.  When  Thurston  told  him, 
Hank  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  stran 
gling  that  turned  his  face  a  dark  purple. 
Afterward  he  explained  brokenly  that 
something  had  got  down  his  Sunday 
throat — and  Thurston,  who  had  never 
heard  of  a  man's  Sunday  throat,  eyed 
him  with  suspicion.  Hank  blinked  at 
him  with  tears  still  in  his  quizzical  eyes 
and  slapped  him  on  the  back,  after  the 
way  of  the  West — and  any  other  en 
lightened  country  where  men  are  not  too 
dignified  to  be  their  real  selves — and 
drawled,  in  a  way  peculiar  to  himself: 

"That's  all  right,  Bud.  You  stay 
right  here  as  long  as  yuh  want  to.  I 
don't  blame  yuh — if  I  was  you  I'd  want 
to  spend  a  lot  uh  time  studying  this  par 
ticular  brand  uh  female  girl  myself. 


the  Dim  Trails  129 

She's  out  uh  sight,  Bud — and  I  don't 
believe  any  uh  the  boys  has  got  his  loop 
on  her  so  far;  though  I  could  name  a 
dozen  or  so  that  would  be  tickled  to  death 
if  they  had.  You  just  go  right  ahead 
and  file  your  little,  old  claim " 

"  You're  getting  things  mixed,"  Thurs- 
ton  interrupted,  rather  testily.  "I'm  not 
in  love  with  her.  I — well,  it's  like  this: 
if  you  were  going  to  paint  a  picture  of 
those  mountains  off  there,  you'd  want 
to  be  where  you  could  look  at  them — 
wouldn't  you?  You  wouldn't  necessarily 
want  to — to  own  them,  just  because  you 
felt  they'd  make  a  fine  picture.  Your  in 
terest  would  be — er — entirely  imper 
sonal." 

"  Uh-huh,"  Hank  agreed,  his  keen  eyes 
searching  Phil's  face  amusedly. 

"  Therefore,  it  doesn't  follow  that  I'm 
getting  foolish  about  a  girl  just  because 
I — hang  it!  what  the  dickens  makes  you 


130  The  Lure  of 

look  at  a  fellow  tHat  way?  You  make 
me " 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  Hank  again,  smooth 
ing  the  lower  half  of  his  face  with  one 
hand.  "  You're  a  mighty  nice  little  boy, 
Bud — I'll  bet  Mona  thinks  so,  too — and 
when  yuh  get  growed  up  you'll  know  a 
whole  lot  more  than  yuh  do  right  now. 
Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  moving.  When  yuh 
get  that — er — story  done,  you'll  come 
back  to  the  ranch,  I  reckon.  Be  good." 

Thurston  watched  him  ride  away,  and 
then  flounced — oh,  men  do  flounce  at 
times,  in  spirit,  if  not  in  deed;  and  there 
would  be  no  lack  of  the  deed  if  only  they 
wore  skirts  that  could  rustle  indignantly 
in  sympathy  with  the  wearer — to  his 
room.  Plainly,  Hank  did  not  swallow 
the  excuse — any  more  readily  than  did 
his  conscience. 

To  prove  the  sincerity  of  his  assertion 
to  himself,  his  conscience,  and  to  Hank 


the  Dim  Trails  131 

Graves,  he  straightway  got  out  a  thick 
pad  of  paper  and  sharpened  three  lead 
pencils  to  an  exceeding  fine  point.  Then 
he  sat  him  down  by  the  window — where 
he  could  see  the  kitchen  door,  which  was 
the  one  most  used  by  the  family — and 
nibbled  the  tip  off  one  of  the  pencils  like 
any  school-girl.  For  ten  minutes  he 
bluffed  himself  into  believing  that  he 
was  trying  to  think  of  a  title;  the  plain 
truth  is,  he  was  wondering  if  Mona 
would  go  for  a  ride  that  afternoon — and 
if  so,  might  he  venture  to  suggest  going 
with  her. 

He  thought  of  the  crimply  waves  in 
Mona's  hair,  and  pondered  what  adjec 
tives  would  best  describe  it  without  seem 
ing  commonplace.  "  Rippling  "  was  too 
old,  though  it  did  seem  to  hit  the  case 
all  right.  He  laid  down  the  pad  and 
nearly  stood  on  his  head  trying  to  reach 
his  Dictionary  of  Synonyms  and  An- 


132  The  Lure  of 

tonyms  without  getting  out  of  his  chair. 
While  he  was  clawing  after  it — it  lay  on 
the  floor,  where  he  had  thrown  it  that 
morning  because  it  refused  to  divulge 
some  information  he  wanted — he  heard 
some  one  open  and  close  the  kitchen  door, 
and  came  near  kinking  his  neck  trying  to 
get  up  in  time  to  see  who  it  was.  He 
failed  to  see  anyone,  and  returned  to  the 
dictionary. 

"  '  Ripple — to  have  waves — like  run 
ning  water.' '  (That  was  just  the  way 
her  hair  looked,  especially  over  the  tem 
ples  and  at  the  nape  of  her  neck — Jove, 
what  a  tempting  white  neck  it  was!) 
"Um-m.  '  Ripple;  wave;  undulate;  un 
even;  irregular.' '  (Lord,  what  fools  are 
the  men  who  write  dictionaries!)  'An 
tonym  ' — hang  the  antonyms!" 

The  kitchen  door  slammed.  He  craned 
again.  It  was  Jack — going  to  town 
most  likely.  Thurston  shrewdly  guessed 


the  Dim  Trails  133 

that  Mrs.  Stevens  leaned  far  more  upon 
Mona  than  she  did  upon  Jack,  although 
he  could  hardly  accuse  her  of  leaning  on 
anyone.  But  he  observed  that  the  men 
looked  to  her  for  orders. 

He  perceived  that  the  point  was  gone 
from  his  pencil,  and  proceeded  to  sharpen 
it.  Then  he  heard  Mona  singing  in  the 
kitchen,  and  recollected  that  Mrs.  Stev 
ens  had  promised  him  warm  doughnuts 
for  supper.  Perhaps  Mona  was  frying 
them  at  that  identical  moment — and  he 
had  never  seen  anyone  frying  doughnuts. 
He  caught  up  his  cane  and  limped  out  to 
investigate.  That  is  how  much  his  heart 
just  then  was  set  upon  writing  a  story 
that  would  breathe  of  the  plains. 

One  great  hindrance  to  the  progress  of 
his  story  was  the  difficulty  he  had  in  se 
lecting  a  hero  for  his  heroine.  Hank 
Graves  suggested  that  he  use  Park,  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  supply  Thurston 


134  The  Lure  of 

with  considerable  data  which  went  to 
prove  that  Park  would  not  be  averse  to 
figuring  in  a  love  story  with  Mona.  But 
Thurston  was  not  what  one  might  call 
enthusiastic,  and  Hank  laughed  his  deep, 
inner  laugh  when  he  was  well  away  from 
the  house. 

Thurston,  on  the  contrary,  glowered 
at  the  world  for  two  hours  after.  Park 
was  a  fine  fellow,  and  Thurston  liked  him 
about  as  well  as  any  man  he  knew  in  the 
West,  but —  And  thus  it  went.  On  eacK 
and  every  visit  to  the  Stevens  ranch — 
and  they  were  many — Hank,  learning  by 
direct  inquiry  that  the  story  still  suffered 
for  lack  of  a  hero,  suggested  some  fellow 
whom  he  had  at  one  time  and  another 
caught  "  shining  "  around  Mona.  And 
at  each  suggestion  Thurston  would  draw 
down  his  eyebrows  till  he  came  near  get 
ting  a  permanent  frown. 

A  love  story  without  a  hero,  while  it 


the  Dim  Trails  135 

would  no  doubt  be  original  and  all  that, 
would  hardly  appeal  to  an  editor.  Phil 
tried  heroes  wholly  imaginary,  but  he 
had  a  trick  of  making  his  characters  seem 
very  real  to  himself — and  sometimes  to 
other  people  as  well.  So  that,  after  a  few 
passages  of  more  or  less  ardent  love-mak 
ing,  he  would  in  a  sense  grow  jealous  and 
spoil  the  story  by  annihilating  the  hero 
thereof. 

Heaven  only  knows  how  long  the  thing 
would  have  gone  on  if  he  hadn't,  one 
temptingly  beautiful  evening,  reverted  to 
the  day  of  the  hold-up  and  apologized 
for  not  obeying  her  command.  He  ex 
plained  as  well  as  he  could  just  why  he 
sat  petrified  with  his  hands  in  the  air. 

And  then  having  brought  the  thing 
freshly  to  her  mind,  he  somehow  lost  con 
trol  of  his  wits  and  told  her  he  loved  her. 
He  told  her  a  good  deal  in  the  next  two 
minutes  that  he  might  better  have  kept 


136  The  Lure  of 

to  himself  just  then.  But  a  man  gen 
erally  makes  a  glorious  fool  of  himself 
once  or  twice  in  his  life — and  it  seems 
the  more  sensible  the  man  the  more  thor 
ough  a  job  he  makes  of  it. 

Mona  moved  a  little  farther  away  from 
him,  and  when  she  answered  she  did  not 
choose  her  words.  "  Of  all  things,"  she 
said,  evenly,  "  I  admire  a  brave  man  and 
despise  a  coward.  You  were  chicken- 
hearted  that  day,  and  you  know  it;  you've 
just  admitted  it.  Why,  in  another  min 
ute  I'd  have  had  that  gun  myself,  and 
I'd  have  shown  you — but  Park  got  it  be 
fore  I  really  had  a  chance.  I — hated 
to  seem  spectacular,  but  it  served  you 
right.  If  you'd  had  any  nerve  I  wouldn't 
have  had  to  sit  there  and  tell  you  what 
to  do.  If  ever  I  marry  anybody,  Mr. 
Thurston,  it  will  be  a  man." 

"  Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  I'm 
not  one?  "  he  asked  angrily. 


the  Dim  Trails  137 

"I  don't  know — yet."  Mona  smiled 
her  unpleasant  smile — the  one  that  did 
not  belong  in  the  story  he  was  going  to 
write.  "  You're  new  to  the  country, 
you  see.  Maybe  you've  got  nerve;  you 
haven't  shown  much,  so  far  as  I  know — 
except  when  you  talked  to  the  boys  that 
night.  But  you  must  have  known  that 
they  wouldn't  hurt  you  anyway.  A  man 
must  have  a  little  courage — as  much  as  I 
have;  which  isn't  asking  much — or  I'd 
never  marry  him  in  the  world." 

"  Not  even  if  you— liked  him?  "  His 
smile  was  wistful. 

"Not  even  if  I— loved  him!"  Mona 
declared,  and  fled  into  the  house. 

Thurston  gathered  himself  together 
and  went  down  to  the  stable  and  bor 
rowed  a  horse  of  Jack,  who  had 
just  got  back  from  town, 
and  rode  home  to  the 
Lazy  Eight. 


138  The  Lure  of 

When  Hank  heard  that  he  was  home 
to  stay — at  least  until  he  could  join  the 
roundup  again — he  didn't  say  a  word 
for  full  five  minutes.  Then,  "  Got  your 
story  done?"  he  drawled,  and  his  eyes 
twinkled. 

Thurston  was  going  up  the  stairs  to 
his  old  room,  and  Hank  could  not  swear 
positively  to  the  reply  he  got.  But  he 
thought  it  sounded  like,  "  Oh,  damn  the 
story!" 


the  Dim  Trails 


139 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  DRIFT   OF   THE   HERDS 


EEKS  slipped  by,  and  to 
Thurston  they  seemed  but 
days.  His  world- weariness 
and  cynicism  disappeared  the 
first  time  he  met  Mona  after  he  had  left 
there  so  unceremoniously;  for  Mona,  not 
being  aware  of  his  cynicism,  received  him 
on  the  old,  friendly  footing,  and  seemed 
to  have  quite  forgotten  that  she  had  ever 
called  him  a  coward,  or  refused  to  marry 
him.  So  Thurston  forgot  it  also — so  long 
as  he  was  with  her. 

How  he  filled  in  the  hours  he  could 
scarcely  have  told;  certain  it  is  that  he 
accomplished  nothing  at  all  so  far  as 


140  The  Lure  of 

Western  stories  were  concerned.  Reeve- 
Howard  wrote  in  slightly  shocked  phrases 
to  ask  what  was  keeping  him  so  long;  and 
assured  him  that  he  was  missing  much  by 
staying  away.  Thurston  mentally  agreed 
with  him  long  enough  to  begin  packing 
his  trunk;  it  was  idiotic  to  keep  staying 
on  when  he  was  clearly  receiving  no  bene 
fit  thereby.  When,  however,  he  picked 
up  a  book  which  he  had  told  Mona  he 
would  take  over  to  her  the  next  time  he 
went,  he  stopped  and  considered: 

There  was  the  Wagner  trial  coming 
off  in  a  month  or  so;  he  couldn't  get  out 
of  attending  it,  for  he  had  been  sub 
poenaed  as  a  witness  for  the  prosecution. 
And  there  was  the  beef  roundup  going 
to  start  before  long — he  really  ought  to 
stay  and  take  that  in;  there  would  be 
some  fine  chances  for  pictures.  And 
really  he  didn't  care  so  much  for  the 
Barry  Wilson  bunch  and  the  long  list  of 


the  Dim  Trails  141 

festivities  which  trailed  ever  in  its  wake; 
at  any  rate,  they  weren't  worth  rushing 
two-thirds  across  the  continent  for. 

He  sat  down  and  wrote  at  length  to 
Reeve-Howard,  explaining  very  care 
fully — and  not  altogether  convincingly 
— just  why  he  could  not  possibly  go 
home  at  present.  After  that  he  saddled 
and  rode  over  to  the  Stevens  place  with 
the  book,  leaving  his  trunk  yawning 
emptily  in  the  middle  of  his  badly  jum 
bled  belongings. 

After  that  he  spent  three  weeks  on  the 
beef  roundup.  At  first  he  was  full  of 
enthusiasm,  and  worked  quite  as  if  he 
had  need  of  the  wages,  but  after  two  or 
three  big  drives  the  novelty  wore  off  quite 
suddenly,  and  nothing  then  remained 
but  a  lot  of  hard  work.  For  instance, 
standing  guard  on  long,  rainy  nights 
when  the  cattle  walked  and  walked  might 
at  first  seem  picturesque  and  all  that,  but 


142  The  Lure  of 

must  at  length  cease  to  be  amusing. 
Likewise  the  long  hours  which  he  spent 
on  day-herd,  when  the  wind  was  raw  and 
penetrating  and  like  to  blow  him  out  of 
the  saddle;  also  standing  at  the  stock 
yard  chutes  and  forcing  an  unwilling 
stream  of  rollicky,  wild-eyed  steers  up 
into  the  cars  that  would  carry  them  to 
Chicago. 

After  three  weeks  of  it  he  awoke  one 
particularly  nasty  morning  and  thanked 
the  Lord  he  was  not  obliged  to  earn  his 
bread  at  all,  to  say  nothing  of  earning 
it  in  so  distressful  a  fashion.  There 
was  a  lull  in  the  shipping  because  cars 
were  not  then  available.  He  promptly 
took  advantage  of  it  and  rode  by  the  very 
shortest  trail  to  the  ranch — and  Mona. 
But  Mona  was  visiting  friends  in  Chi 
nook,  and  there  was  no  telling  when  she 
would  return.  Thurston,  in  the  next  few 
days,  owned  to  himself  that  there  was  no 
good  reason  for  his  tarrying  longer  in  the 


the  Dim  Trails 


143 


big,  unpeopled  West,  and  that  the  proper 
thing  for  him  to  do  was  go  back  home  to 
New  York. 

He  had  come  to  stay  a  month,  and  he 
had  stayed  five.  He  could  ride  and  rope 
like  an  old-timer,  and  he  was  well  quali 
fied  to  put  up  a  stiff  gun-fight  had  the 
necessity  ever  arisen — which  it  had  not. 
He  had  three  hundred  and  seventy-one 
pictures  of  different  phases  of  range  life, 
not  counting  as  many  that  were  over-ex 
posed  or  under-exposed  or  out  of  focus. 
He  had  six  unfinished  stories,  in  each  of 
which  the  heroine  had  big,  blue-gray 
eyes  and  crimply  hair,  and  the  title  and 
bare  skeleton  of  a  seventh,  in  which  the 
same  sort  of  eyes  and  hair  would  prob 
ably  develop  later.  He  had  proposed  to 
Mona  three  times,  and  had  been 
three  times  rebuffed — though  not, 
it  must  be  owned,  with  that  tone 
of  finality  which  precludes  hope. 


144  The  Lure  of 

He  was  tanned  a  fine  brown,  which  be 
came  him  well.  His  eyes  had  lost  the 
dreamy,  introspective  look  of  the  stu 
dent  and  author,  and  had  grown  keen 
with  the  habit  of  studying  objects  at 
long  range.  He  walked  with  that  pecul 
iar,  stiff -legged  gait  which  betrays  long 
hours  spent  in  the  saddle,  and  he  wore  a 
silk  handkerchief  around  his  neck  habitu 
ally  and  had  forgotten  the  feel  of  a  dress- 
suit. 

He  answered  to  the  name  "  Bud  "  more 
readily  than  to  his  own,  and  he  made, 
practical  use  of  the  slang  and  colloquial 
isms  of  the  plains  without  any  mental 
quotation  marks. 

By  all  these  signs  and  tokens  he  had 
learned  his  West,  and  should  have  taken 
himself  back  to  civilization  when  came 
the  frost.  He  had  come  to  get  into  touch 
with  his  chosen  field  of  fiction,  that  he 
might  write  as  one  knowing  whereof  he 


the  Dim  Trails  145 

spoke.  So  far  as  he  had  gone,  he  was 
in  touch  with  it;  he  was  steeped  to  the 
eyes  in  local  color — and  there  was  the 
rub.  The  lure  of  it  was  strong  upon  him, 
and  he  might  not  loosen  its  hold.  He 
was  the  son  of  his  father;  he  had  found 
himself,  and  knew  that,  like  him,  he  loved 
best  to  travel  the  dim  trails. 

Gene  Wasson  came  in  and  slammed 
the  door  emphatically  shut  after  him. 
"  She's  sure  coming,"  he  complained, 
while  he  pulled  the  icicles  from  his  mus 
tache  and  cast  them  into  the  fire.  "  She's 
going  to  be  a  real,  old  howler  by  the 
signs.  What  yuh  doing,  Bud?  Writ 
ing  poetry?" 

Thurston  nodded  assent  with  certain 
mental  reservations;  so  far  the  editors 
couldn't  seem  to  make  up  their  minds 
that  it  was  poetry. 

"  Well,  say,  I  wish  you'd  slap  in  a  lot 


146 


The  Lure  of 


uh  things  about  hazy,  lazy,  daisy  days 
in  the  spring — that  jingles  fine! — and 
green  grass  and  the  sun  shining  and 
making  the  hills  all  goldy  yellow,  and 
prairie  dogs  chip-chip-chipping  on  the 
'dobe  flats.  (Prairie  dogs  would  go  all 
right  in  poetry,  wouldn't  they?  They're 
sassy  little  cusses,  and  I  don't  know  of 
anything  that  would  rhyme  with  'em,  but 
maybe  you  do.)  And  read  it  all  out  to 
me  after  supper.  Maybe  it'll  make  me 
kinda  forget  there's  a  blizzard  on." 

"  Another  one?  "  Thurston  got  up  to 
scratch  a  trench  in  the  half -inch  layer  of 
frost  on  the  cabin  window.  "  Why,  it 
only  cleared  up  this  morning  after  three 
days  of  it." 

"  Can't  help  that.  This  is  just  an 
other  chapter  uh  that  same  story.  When 
these  here  Klondike  chinooks  gets  to  lap^ 
ping  over  each  other  they  never  know 
when  to  quit.  Every  darn  one  has  got 


the  Dim  Trails  147 

'  to  be  continued '  tacked  onto  the  tail  of 
it  this  winter.  All  the  difference  is,  you 
can't  read  the  writing;  but  I  can. 

"  I've  got  some  mail  for  yuh,  Bud. 
And  old  Hank  wanted  me  to  ask  yuh 
if  you'd  like  to  go  to  Glasgow  next 
Thursday  and  watch  old  Lauman  start 
the  Wagner  boys  for — wherever's  hot 
enough.  He  can  get  yuh  in — you  being 
in  the  writing  business.  He  says  to  tell 
yuh  it's  a  good  chance  to  take  notes,  so 
yuh  can  write  a  real  stylish  story,  with 
lots  uh  murder  and  sudden  death  in  it. 
We  don't  hang  folks  out  here  very  often, 
and  yuh  might  have  to  go  back  East  after 
pointers,  if  yuh  pass  this  up." 

"  Oh,  go  easy.  It  turns  me  sick  when 
I  think  about  it;  how  they  looked  when 
they  got  their  sentence,  and  all  that.  I 
certainly  don't  care  to  see  them  hanged, 
xthough  they  do  deserve  it.  Where  are 
the  letters?"  Thurston  sprawled  across 


148  The  Lure  of 

the  table  for  them.  One  was  from 
Reeve-Howard;  he  put  it  by.  Another 
had  a  printed  address  in  the  corner — an 
address  that  started  his  pulse  a  beat  or 
two  faster;  for  he  had  not  yet  reached 
that  blase  stage  where  he  could  receive  a 
personal  letter  from  one  of  the  "  Eight 
Leading  "  without  the  flicker  of  an  eye 
lash.  He  still  gloated  over  his  successes, 
and  was  cast  into  the  deeps  by  his  failures. 

He  held  the  envelope  to  the  light,  shook 
it  tentatively,  like  any  woman,  guessed 
hastily  and  hopefully  at  the  contents, 
and  tore  off  an  end  impatiently.  From 
the  great  fireplace  Gene  watched  him 
curiously  and  half  enviously.  He  wished 
he  could  get  important-looking  letters 
from  New  York  every  few  days.  It 
must  make  a  fellow  feel  that  he  amounted 
to  something. 

"  Gene,  you  remember  that  story  I 
read  to  you  one  night — that  yarn  about 


the  Dim  Trails 


149 


the  fellow  that  lived  alone 

in  the  hills,   and  how  the 

wolves   used  to   come   and 

sit  on  the  ridge  and  howl 

o'    nights — you   know,   the 

one  you  said  was  '  out  uh 

sight'?     They  took  it,  all 

right,   and — here,  what  do 

you  think  of  that?  "    He  tossed  the  letter 

over  to  Gene,  who  caught  it  just  as  it  was 

about  to  be  swept  into  the  flame  with  the 

draught. 

Thurston,  in  the  days  which  he  spent 
in  one  of  the  half-dozen  Lazy  Eight 
line-camps  with  Gene,  down  by  the  river, 
had  been  writing  of  the  West — writing 
in  fear  and  trembling,  for  now  he  knew 
how  great  was  his  subject  and  his  igno 
rance  of  it.  In  the  long  evenings,  while 
the  fire  crackled  and  the  flames  played  a 
game  they  had  invented — a  game  where, 
they  tried  which  could  leap  highest  up  the 


150  The  Lure  of 

great  chimney;  while  the  north  wind 
whoo-ooed  around  the  eaves  and  fine, 
frozen  snow  meal  swished  against  the 
one  little  window;  while  shivering,  drift 
ing  range  cattle  tramped  restlessly 
through  the  sparse  willow-growth  seek 
ing  comfort  where  was  naught  but  cold 
and  snow  and  bitter,  driving  wind;  while 
the  gray  wolves  hunted  in  packs  and  had 
not  long  to  wait  for  their  supper,  Thurs- 
ton  had  written  better  than  he  knew.  He 
had  sent  the  cold  of  the  blizzards  and  the 
howl  of  the  wolves;  he  had  sent  bits  of 
the  wind-swept  plains  back  to  New  York 
in  long,  white  envelopes.  And  the  editors 
were  beginning  to  watch  for  his  white  en 
velopes  and  to  seize  them  eagerly  when 
they  came,  greedy  for  what  was  within. 
Not  every  day  can  they  look  upon  a  few 
typewritten  pages  and  see  the  range- 
land  spread,  now  frowning,  now  smiling, 
before  them. 


the  Dim  Trails  151 

"  Gee !  they  say  here  they  want  a  lot 
more  uh  the  same  brand,  and  at  any  old 
price  yuh  might  name.  I  wouldn't  mind 
writing  stories  myself."  Gene  kicked  a 
log  back  into  the  flame  where  it  would 
do  the  most  good.  His  big,  square-shoul 
dered  figure  stood  out  sharply  against  the 
glow. 

Thurston,  watching  him  meditatively, 
wanted  to  tell  him  that  he  was  the  sort  of 
whom  good  stories  are  made.  But  for 
men  like  Gene — strong,  purposeful, 
brave,  the  West  would  lose  half  its 
charm.  He  was  like  Bob  in  many  ways, 
and  for  that  Thurston  liked  him  and 
stayed  with  him  in  the  line-camp  when  he 
might  have  been  taking  his  ease  at  the 
home  ranch. 

It  was  wild  and  lonely  down  there  be 
tween  the  bare  hills  and  the  frozen  river, 
but  the  wildness  and  the  loneliness  ap 
pealed  to  him.  It  was  primitive  and  at 


152  The  Lure  of 

times  uncomfortable.  He  slept  in  a  bunk 
built  against  the  wall,  with  hard  boards 
under  him  and  a  sod  roof  over  his  head. 
There  were  times  when  the  wind  blew  its 
fiercest  and  rattled  dirt  down  into  his 
face  unless  he  covered  it  with  a  blanket. 
And  every  other  day  he  had  to  wash  the 
dishes  and  cook,  and  when  it  was  Gene's 
turn  to  cook,  Thurston  chopped  great 
armloads  of  wood  for  the  fireplace  to  eat 
o'  nights.  Also  he  must  fare  forth, 
wrapped  to  the  eyes,  and  help  Gene 
drive  back  the  cattle  which  drifted  into 
the  river  bottom,  lest  they  cross  the  river 
on  the  ice  and  range  where  they  should 
not. 

But  in  the  evenings  he  could  sit  in  the 
fire-glow  and  listen  to  the  wind  and  to 
the  coyotes  and  the  gray  wolves,  and 
weave  stories  that  even  the  most  hyper 
critical  of  editors  could  not  fail  to  find 
convincing.  By  day  he  could  push  the 


the  Dim  Trails  153 

coffee-box  that  held  his  typewriter  over 
by  the  frosted  window — when  he  had  an 
hour  or  two  to  spare — and  whang  away, 
at  a  rate  which  filled  Gene  with  wonder. 
Sometimes  he  rode  over  to  the  home 
ranch  for  a  day  or  two,  but  Mona  was 
away  studying  music,  so  he  found  no  in 
ducement  to  remain,  and  drifted  back  to 
the  little,  sod-roofed  cabin  by  the  river, 
and  to  Gene. 

The  winter  settled  down  with  bared 
teeth  like  a  bull-dog,  and  never  a  chinook 
came  to  temper  the  cold  and  give  respite 
to  man  or  beast.  Blizzards  that  held 
them,  in  fear  of  their  lives,  close  to 
shelter  for  days  came  down  from  the 
north;  and  with  them  came  the  drifting 
herds.  By  hundreds  they  came,  hurry 
ing  miserably  before  the  storms.  When 
the  wind  lashed  them  without  mercy  even 
in  the  bottom-land,  they  pushed  reluc 
tantly  out  upon  the  snow-covered  ice  of 


154  The  Lure  of 

the  Missouri.  Then  Gene  and  Thurston, 
watching  from  their  cabin  window,  would 
ride  out  and  turn  them  pitilessly  back  into 
the  teeth  of  the  storm. 

They  came  by  hundreds— thin,  gaunt 
from  cold  and  hunger.  They  came  by 
thousands,  lowing  their  misery  as  they 
wandered  aimlessly,  seeking  that  which 
none  might  find:  food  and  shelter  and 
warmth  for  their  chilled  bodies.  When 
the  Canada  herds  pushed  down  upon 
them  the  boys  gave  over  trying  to  keep 
them  north  of  the  river ;  while  they  turned 
one  bunch  a  dozen  others  were  straggling 
out  from  shore,  the  timid  following  single 
file  behind  a  leader  more  venturesome  or 
more  desperate  than  his  fellows. 

So  the  march  went  on  and  on:  big, 
Southern-bred  steer  grappling  the  prob 
lem  of  his  first  Northern  winter;  thin- 
flanked  cow  with  shivering,  rough-coated 
calf  trailing  at  her  heels;  humpbacked 


the  Dim  Trails  155 

yearling  with  little  nubs  of  horns  telling 
that  he  was  lately  in  his  calf  hood;  red 
cattle,  spotted  cattle,  white  cattle,  black 
cattle;  white-faced  Herefords,  Short 
horns,  scrubs;  Texas  longhorns — of  the 
sort  invariably  pictured  in  stampedes — 
still  they  came  drifting  out  of  the  cold 
wilderness  and  on  into  wilderness  as  cold. 

Through  the  shifting  wall  of  the  worst 
blizzard  that  season  Thurston  watched 
the  weary,  fruitless,  endless  march  of  the 
range.  '  Where  do  they  all  come  from?  " 
he  exclaimed  once  when  the  snow-veil 
lifted  and  showed  the  river  black  with 
cattle. 

"Lord!  I  dunno,"  Gene  answered, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  against  the  pity 
of  it.  "I  seen  some  brands  yesterday 
that  I  know  belongs  up  in  the  Cypress 
Hills  country.  If  things  don't  loosen  up 
pretty  soon,  the  whole  darned  range  will 
be  swept  clean  uh  stock  as  far  north  as 


156  The  Lure  of 

cattle  run.  I'm  looking  for  reindeer 
next." 

"  Something  ought  to  be  done,"  Thurs- 
ton  declared  uneasily,  turning  away  from 
the  sight.  "I've  had  the  bellowing  of 
starving  cattle  in  my  ears  day  and  night 
for  nearly  a  month.  The  thing's  getting 
on  my  nerves." 

"  It's  getting  on  the  nerves  uh  them 
that  own  'em  a  heap  worse,"  Gene  told 
him  grimly,  and  piled  more  wood  on  the 
fire;  for  the  cold  bit  through  even  the 
thick  walls  of  the  cabin  when  the  flames 
in  the  fireplace  died,  and  the  door  hinges 
were  crusted  deep  with  ice.  '  There's 
going  to  be  the  biggest  loss  this  range 
has  ever  known." 

"  It's  the  owners'  fault,"  snapped 
Thurston,  whose  nerves  were  in  that  irri 
table  state  which  calls  loudly  for  a  vent 
of  some  sort.  Even  argument  with  Gene, 
fruitless  though  it  perforce  must  be, 


the  Dim  Trails  157 

would  be  a  relief.  "  It's  their  own  fault. 
I  don't  pity  them  any — why  don't  they 
take  care  of  their  stock?  If  I  owned  cat 
tle,  do  you  think  I'd  sit  in  the  house  and 
watch  them  starve  through  the  winter? " 

"What  if  yuh  owned  more  than  yuh 
could  feed?  It'd  be  a  case  uh  have-to 
then.  There's  fifty  thousand  Lazy  Eight 
cattle  walking  the  range  somewhere  to 
day.  How  the  dickens  is  old  Hank  going 
to  feed  them  fifty  thousand?  or  five  thou 
sand?  It  takes  every  spear  uh  hay  he's 
got  to  feed  his  calves." 

"  He  could  buy  hay,"  Thurston  per 
sisted. 

"Buy  hay  for  fifty  thousand  cattle? 
Where  would  he  get  it?  Say,  Bud,  I 
guess  yuh  don't  realize  that's  some  cattle. 
All  ails  you  is,  yuh  don't  savvy  the  size 
uh  the  thing.  I'll  bet  yuh  there  won't  be 
less  than  three  hundred  thousand  head 
cross  this  river  before  spring." 


158  The  Lure  of 

"  Some  of  them  belong  in  Canada — 
you  said  so  yourself." 

"  I  know  it,  but  look  at  all  the  country 
south  of  us:  all  the  other  cow  States. 
Why,  Bud,  when  yuh  talk  about  feeding 
every  critter  that  runs  the  range,  you're 
plumb  foolish." 

"Anyway,  it's  a  damnable  pity!" 
Thurston  asserted  petulantly. 

"  Sure  it  is.  The  grass  is  there,  but  it's 
under  fourteen  inches  uh  snow  right  now, 
and  more  coming;  they  say  it's  twelve 
feet  deep  up  in  the  mountains.  You'll 
see  some  great  old  times  in  the  spring, 
Bud,  if  yuh  stay.  You  will,  won't  yuh?  " 

Thurston  laughed  shortly.  "  I  suppose 
it's  safe  to  say  I  will,"  he  answered.  "  I 
ought  to  have  gone  last  fall,  but  I  didn't. 
It  will  probably  be  the  same  thing  over 
again;  I  ought  to  go  in  the  spring,  but  I 
won't." 

"  You  bet  yuh  won't.    Talk  about  big 


the  Dim  Trails  159 

roundups!  what  yuh  seen  last  spring 
wasn't  a  commencement.  Every  hoof 
that  crosses  this  river  and  lives  till  spring 
will  have  to  be  rounded  up  and  brought 
back  again.  They'll  be  scattered  clean 
down  to  the  Yellowstone,  and  every 
Northern  outfit  has  got  to  go  down  and 
help  work  the  range  from  there  back.  I 
tell  yuh,  Bud,  yuh  want  to  lay  in  a  car 
load  uh  films  and  throw  away  all  them 
little,  jerk- water  snap-shots  yuh  got. 
There's  going  to  be  roundups  like  these 
old  Panhandle  rannies  tell  about,  when 
the  green  grass  comes."  Gene,  thinking 
blissfully  of  the  tented  life,  sprawled  his 
long  legs  toward  the  snapping  blaze  and 
crooned  dreamily,  while  without  the  bliz 
zard  raged  more  fiercely,  a  verse  from 
an  old  camp  song: 

Out  on  the  roundup,  boys,  I  tell  yuh  what  yuh  get — 
Little  chunk  uh  bread  and  a  little  chunk  uh  meat; 
Little  black  coffee,  boys,  chuck  full  uh  alkali, 


160 


The  Lure  of 


Dust  in  your  throat,  boys,  and  gravel  in  your  eye! 
So  polish  up  your  saddles,  oil  your  slickers  and  your 

guns, 
For  we're  bound  for  Lonesome  Prairie  when  the  green 

grass  comes. 


*,.« 


.-.-, 


the  Dim  Trails  161 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   CHINOOK 

NE  night  in  late  March  a  sul 
len,  faraway  roar  awakened 
Thurston  in  his  bunk.  He 
turned  over  and  listened, 
wondering  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 
More  than  anything  it  sounded  like  a 
hurrying  freight  train — only  the  railroad 
lay  many  miles  to  the  north,  and  trains 
do  not  run  at  large  over  the  prairie. 
Gene  snored  peacefully  an  arm's  length 
away.  Outside  the  snow  lay  deep  on 
the  levels,  while  in  the  hollows  were  great, 
white  drifts  that  at  bedtime  had  glittered 
frostily  in  the  moonlight.  On  the  hill 
tops  the  gray  wolves  howled  across  cou- 


162  The  Lure  of 

lees  to  their  neighbors,  and  slinking  coy 
otes  yapped  foolishly  at  the  moon. 

Thurston  drew  the  blanket  up  over  his 
ears,  for  the  fire  had  died  to  a  heap  of 
whitening  embers  and  the  cold  of  the 
cabin  made  the  nose  of  him  tingle.  The 
roar  grew  louder  and  nearer — then  the 
cabin  shivered  and  creaked  in  the  sud 
denness  of  the  blast  that  struck  it.  A 
clod  of  dirt  plumbed  down  upon  his 
shoulder,  bringing  with  it  a  shower  of 
finer  particles.  "Another  blizzard!"  he 
groaned,  "  and  the  worst  we've  had  yet, 
by  the  sound." 

The  wind  shrieked  down  the  chimney 
and  sought  the  places  where  the  chinking 
was  loose.  It  howled  up  the  coulees,  put 
ting  the  wolves  themselves  to  shame. 
Gene  flopped  over  like  a  newly  landed 
fish,  grunted  some  unintelligible  words 
and  slept  again. 

For  an  hour  Thurston  lay  and  listened 


the  Dim  Trails  163 


to  the  blast  and  selfishly  thanked  heaven 
it  was  his  turn  at  the  cooking.  If  the 
storm  kept  up  like  that,  he  told  himself, 
he  was  glad  he  did  not  have  to  chop  the 
wood.  He  lifted  the  blanket  and  sniffed 
tentatively,  then  cuddled  back  into  cover 
swearing  that  a  thermometer  would  reg 
ister  zero  at  that  very  moment  on  his 
pillow. 

The  storm  came  in  gusts  as  the  worst 
blizzards  do  at  times.  It  made  him  think 
of  the  nursery  story  about  the  fifth  little 
pig  who  built  a  cabin  of  rocks,  and  how 
the  wolf  threatened:  "  I'll  huff  and  I'll 
puff,  and  I'll  blow  your  house  down!" 
It  was  as  if  he  himself  were  the  fifth  little 
pig,  and  as  if  the  wind  were  the  wolf. 
The  wolf -wind  would  stop  for  whole 
minutes,  gather  his  great  lungs  full  of 
air  and  then  without  warning  would 
"huff  and  puff"  his  hardest.  But 
though  the  cabin  was  not  built  of  rocks, 


164 


The  Lure  of 


it  was  nevertheless  a  staunch  little  shelter 
and  sturdily  withstood  the  shocks. 

He  pitied  the  poor  cattle  still  fighting 
famine  and  frost  as  only  range-bred 
stock  can  fight.  He  pictured  them  drift 
ing  miserably  before  the  fury  of  the 
wind  or  crowding  for  shelter  under  some 
friendly  cutbank,  their  tails  to  the  storm, 
waiting  stolidly  for  the  dawn  that  would 
bring  no  relief.  Then,  with  the  roar  and 
rattle  in  his  ears,  he  fell  asleep. 

In  that  particular  line-camp  on  the 
Missouri  the  cook's  duties  began  with 
building  a  fire  in  the  morning.  Thurston 
waked  reluctantly,  shivered  in  anticipa 
tion  under  the  blankets,  gathered  to 
gether  his  fortitude  and  crept  out  of  his 
bunk.  While  he  was  dressing  his  teeth 
chattered  like  castanets  in  a  minstrel 
show.  He  lighted  the  fire  hurriedly  and 
stood  backed  close  before  it,  listening  to 
the  rage  of  the  wind.  He  was  growing 


the  Dim  Trails  165 

very  tired  of  the  monotony  of  winter;  he 
could  no  longer  see  any  beauty  in  the 
high-turreted,  snow-clad  hills,  nor  the 
bare,  red  faces  of  the  cliffs  frowning 
down  upon  him. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  could  see  to  the 
river  bank,"  he  mused,  "  and  Gene  will 
certainly  tear  the  third  commandment  to 
shreds  before  he  gets  the  water-hole 
open." 

He  went  over  to  the  window,  meaning 
to  scratch  a  peep-hole  in  the  frost,  just 
as  he  had  done  every  day  for  the  past 
three  months ;  lifted  a  hand,  then  stopped 
bewildered.  For  instead  of  frost  there 
was  only  steam  with  ridges  of  ice  yet 
clinging  to  the  sash  and  dripping  water 
in  a  tiny  rivulet.  He  wiped  the  steam 
hastily  away  with  his  palm  and  looked 
out. 

"  Good  heavens,  Gene!  "  he  shouted  in 
a  voice  to  wake  the  Seven  Sleepers.  "  The 


166  The  Lure  of 

world's  gone  mad  overnight.  Are  you 
dead,  man?  Get  up  and  look  out.  The 
whole  damn  country  is  running  water, 
and  the  hills  are  bare  as  this  floor!  " 

"Uh-huh!"  Gene  knuckled  his  eyes 
and  sat  up.  "  Chinook  struck  us  in  the 
night.  Didn't  yuh  hear  it?  " 

Thurston  pulled  open  the  door  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  the  miracle  of  the 
West.  He  had  seen  Mother  Nature  in 
many  a  changeful  mood,  but  never  like 
this.  The  wind  blew  warm  from  the 
southwest  and  carried  hints  of  green 
things  growing  and  the  song  of  birds; 
he  breathed  it  gratefully  into  his  lungs 
and  let  it  riot  in  his  hair.  The  sky  was 
purplish  and  soft,  with  heavy,  drifting 
clouds  high-piled  like  a  summer  storm. 
It  looked  like  rain,  he  thought. 

The  bare  hills  were  sodden  with  snow 
water,  and  the  drifts  in  the  coulees  were 
dirt-grimed  and  forbidding.  The  great 


the  Dim  Trails  167 

river  lay,  a  gray  stretch  of  water-soaked 
snow  over  the  ice,  with  little,  clear  pools 
reflecting  the  drab  clouds  above.  A  crow 
flapped  lazily  across  the  foreground  and 
perched  like  a  blot  of  fresh-spilled  ink  on 
the  top  of  a  dead  cottonwood  and  cawed 
raucous  greeting  to  the  spring. 

The  wonder  of  it  dazed  Thurston  and 
made  him  do  unusual  things  that  morn 
ing.  All  winter  he  had  been  puffed  with 
pride  over  his  cooking,  but  now  he 
scorched  the  oatmeal,  let  the  coffee  boil 
over,  and  blackened  the  bacon,  and  com 
mitted  divers  other  grievous  sins  against 
Gene's  clamoring  appetite.  Nor  did  he 
feel  the  shame  that  he  should  have  felt. 
He  simply  could  not  stay  in  the  cabin 
five  minutes  at  a  time,  and  for  it  he  had 
no  apology. 

After  breakfast  he  left  the  dishes  un 
washed  upon  the  table  and  went  out 
and  made  merry  with  nature.  He  could 


168  The  Lure  of 

scarce  believe  that  yesterday  he  had 
frosted  his  left  ear  while  he  brought  a 
bucket  of  water  up  from  the  river,  and 
that  it  had  made  his  lungs  ache  to  breathe 
the  chill  air.  Now  the  path  to  the  river 
was  black  and  dry  and  steamed  with 
warmth.  Across  the  water  cattle  were 
feeding  greedily  upon  the  brown  grasses 
that  only  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
locked  away  under  a  crust  of  frozen 
snow. 

"  They  won't  starve  now,"  he  exulted, 
pointing  them  out  to  Gene. 

"No,  you  bet  not!"  Gene  answered. 
"  If  this  don't  freeze  up  on  us  the  wag 
ons  '11  be  starting  in  a  month  or  so.  I 
guess  we  can  be  thinking  about  hitting 
the  trail  for  home  pretty  soon  now.  The 
river'll  break  up  if  this  keeps  going  a 
week.  Say,  this  is  out  uh  sight!  It's 
warmer  out  uh  doors  than  it  is  in  the 
house.  Darn  the  old  shack,  anyway! 


the  Dim  Trails  169 

I'm  plumb  sick  uh  the  sight  of  it.  It 
looked  all  right  to  me  in  a  blizzard,  but 
now — it's  me  for  the  range,  m'son."  He 
went  off  to  the  stable  with  long,  swing 
ing  strides  that  matched  all  nature  for 
gladness,  singing  cheerily: 

So  polish  up  your  saddles,  oil  your  slickers  and  your 

guns, 
For  we're  bound  for  Lonesome  Prairie  when  the  green 

grass  comes. 


170  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER   XI 

FOLLOWING   THE  DIM   TRAILS 

HURSTON  did  not  go  on 
the  horse  roundup.  He  ex 
plained  to  the  boys,  when 
they  clamored  against  his 
staying,  that  he  had  a  host  of  things  to 
write,  and  it  would  keep  him  busy  till 
they  were  ready  to  start  with  the  wagons 
for  the  big  rendezvous  on  the  Yellowstone 
— the  exact  point  of  which  had  yet  to  be 
decided  upon  by  the  Stock  Association 
when  it  met.  The  editors  were  after  him, 
he  said,  and  if  he  ever  expected  to  get 
anywhere — in  a  literary  sense — it  be 
hooved  him  to  keep  on  the  smily  side  of 
the  editors. 


the  Dim  Trails  171 

That  sounded  all  right  as  far  as  it  went, 
but  unfortunately  it  did  not  go  far.  The 
boys  winked  at  one  another  gravely  be 
hind  his  back  and  jerked  their  thumbs 
knowingly  toward  Milk  River;  by  which 
pantomime  they  reminded  one  another — 
quite  unnecessarily — that  Mona  Stevens 
had  come  home.  However,  they  kept 
their  skepticism  from  becoming  obtru 
sive,  so  that  Thurston  believed  his  ex 
cuses  passed  on  their  face  value.  The 
boys,  it  would  seem,  realized  that  it  is 
against  human  nature  for  a  man  to  de 
clare  openly  to  his  fellows  his  intention 
of  laying  last,  desperate  siege  to  the 
heart  of  a  girl  who  has  already  refused 
him  three  times,  and  to  ask  her  for  the 
fourth  time  if  she  will  reconsider  her  for 
mer  decisions  and  marry  him. 

That  is  really  what  kept  Thurston  at 
the  Lazy  Eight.  His  writing  became 
once  more  a  mere  incident  in  his  life. 


172  The  Lure  of 

During  the  winter,  when  he  did  not  see 
her,  he  could  bring  himself  to  think  oc 
casionally  of  other  things;  and  it  is  a 
fact  that  the  stories  he  wrote  with  no 
heroine  at  all  hit  the  mark  the  straightest. 

Now,  when  he  was  once  again  under 
the  spell  of  big,  clear,  blue-gray  eyes  and 
crimply  brown  hair,  his  stories  lost  some 
thing  of  their  virility  and  verged  upon 
the  sentimental  in  tone.  And  since  he 
was  not  a  fool  he  realized  the  f alling-off 
and  chafed  against  it  and  wondered  why 
it  was.  Surely  a  man  who  is  in  love 
should  be  well  qualified  to  write  convinc 
ingly  of  the  obsession — but  Thurston  did 
not.  He  came  near  going  to  the  other 
extreme  and  refusing  to  write  at  all. 

The  wagons  were  out  two  weeks — 
which  is  quite  long  enough  for  a  crisis 
to  arise  in  the  love  affair  of  any  man.  By 
the  time  the  horse  roundup  was  over,  one 
Philip  Thurston  was  in  pessimistic  mood 


the  Dim  Trails  173 

and  quite  ready  to  follow  the  wagons — 
the  farther  the  better.  Also,  they  could 
not  start  too  soon  to  please  him.  His 
thoughts  still  ran  to  blue-gray  eyes  and 
crimply  hair,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to 
put  them  into  a  story. 

He  packed  his  trunk  carefully  with 
everything  he  would  not  need  on  the 
roundup,  and  his  typewriter  he  put  in  the 
middle.  He  told  himself  bitterly  that  he 
had  done  with  crimply  haired  girls,  and 
with  every  other  sort  of  girl.  If  he  could 
figure  in  something  heroic — only  he  said 
melodramatic — he  might  possibly  force 
her  to  think  well  of  him.  But  heroic  situ 
ations  and  opportunities  come  not  every 
day  to  a  man,  and  girls  who  demand  that 
their  knights  shall  be  brave  in  face  of 
death  need  not  complain  if  they  are  left 
knightless  at  the  last. 

He  wrote  to  Reeve-Howard,  the  night 
before  they  were  to  start,  and  apologized 


174  The  Lure  of 

gracefully  for  Having  neglected  him  dur 
ing  the  past  three  weeks  and  told  him 
he  would  certainly  be  home  in  another 
month.  He  said  that  he  was  "  in  danger 
of  being  satiated  with  the  Western  tone  " 
and  would  be  glad  to  shake  the  hand  of 
civilized  man  once  more.  This  was  dis 
tinctly  unfair,  because  he  had  no  quarrel 
with  the  masculine  portion  of  the  West. 
If  he  had  said  civilized  woman  it  would 
have  been  more  just  and  more  illumi 
nating  to  Reeve-Howard  who  wondered 
what  scrape  Phil  had  gotten  himself  into 
with  those  savages. 

For  the  first  few  days  of  the  trip 
Thurston  was  in  that  frame  of  mind 
which  makes  a  man  want  to  ride  by  him 
self,  with  shoulders  hunched  moodily  and 
eyes  staring  straight  before  the  nose  of 
his  horse. 

But  the  sky  was  soft  and  seemed  to 
smile  down  at  him,  and  the  clouds  loitered 


the  Dim  Trails  175 

in  the  blue  of  it  and  drifted  aimlessly  with 
no  thought  of  reaching  harbor  on  the  sky 
line.  From  under  his  horse's  feet  the 
prairie  sod  sent  up  sweet,  earthy  odors 
into  his  nostrils  and  the  tinkle  of  the  bells 
in  the  saddle-bunch  behind  him  made  mu 
sic  in  his  ears — the  sort  of  music  a  true 
cowboy  loves.  Yellow-throated  meadow 
larks  perched  swaying  in  the  top  of  gray 
sage  bushes  and  sang  to  him  that  the 
world  was  good.  Sober  gray  curlews  cir 
cled  over  his  head,  their  long,  funny  bills 
thrust  out  straight  as  if  to  point  the  way 
for  their  bodies  to  follow  and  cried, 
"  Kor-r-tfcfc,  kor-r-£C&/ 3i — which  means 
just  what  the  meadow  larks  sang.  So 
Thurston,  hearing  it  all  about  him,  see 
ing  it  and  smelling  it  and  feeling  the  riot 
of  Spring  in  his  blood,  straightened  the 
hunch  out  of  his  shoulders  and  admitted 
that  it  was  all  true:  that  the  world  was 
good. 


176  The  Lure  of 

At  Miles  City  he  found  himself  in  the 
midst  of  a  small  army — the  regulars  of 
the  range — which  grew  hourly  larger  as 
the  outfits  rolled  in.  The  rattle  of  mess- 
wagons,  driven  by  the  camp  cook  and  fol 
lowed  by  the  bed- wagon,  was  heard  from 
all  directions.  Jingling  cawies  (herds 
of  saddle  horses  they  were,  driven  and 
watched  over  by  the  horse  wrangler) 
came  out  of  the  wilderness  in  the  wake 
of  the  wagons.  Thurston  got  out  his 
camera  and  took  pictures  of  the  scene. 
In  the  first,  ten  different  camps  ap 
peared;  he  mourned  because  two  others 
were  perf orced  omitted.  Two  hours  later 
he  snapped  the  kodak  upon  fifteen,  and 
there  were  four  beyond  range  of  the  lens. 

Park  came  along,  saw  what  he  was 
doing  and  laughed.  '  Yuh  better  wait 
till  they  commence  to  come"  he  said. 
"When  yuh  can  stand  on  this  little  hill 
and  count  fifty  or  sixty  outfits  camped 


the  Dim  Trails  177 

within  two  or  three  miles  uh  here,  yuh 
might  begin  taking  pictures." 

"  I  think  you're  loading  me,"  Thurston 
retorted  calmly,  winding  up  the  roll  for 
another  exposure. 

"  All  right — suit  yourself  about  it." 
Park  walked  off  and  left  him  peering 
into  the  view-finder. 

Still  they  came.  From  Swift  Current 
to  the  Cypress  Hills  the  Canadian  cattle 
men  sent  their  wagons  to  join  the  big 
meet.  From  the  Sweet  Grass  Hills  to 
the  mouth  of  Milk  River  not  a  stock- 
grower  but  was  represented.  From  the 
upper  Musselshell  they  came,  and  from 
out  the  Judith  Basin;  from  Shellanne 
east  to  Fort  Buford.  Truly  it  was  a 
gathering  of  the  clans  such  as  eastern 
Montana  had  never  before  seen. 

For  a  day  and  a  night  the  cowboys 
made  merry  in  town  while  their  foremen 
consulted  and  the  captains  appointed  by 


178  The  Lure  of 

the  Association  mapped  out  the  different 
routes.  In  times  like  these,  foremen  such 
as  Park  and  Deacon  Smith  were  shorn 
of  their  accustomed  power,  and  worked 
under  orders  as  strict  as  those  they  gave 
their  men. 

Their  future  movements  thoroughly 
understood,  the  army  moved  down  upon 
the  range  in  companies  of  five  and  six 
crews,  and  the  long  summer's  work  be 
gan;  each  rider  a  unit  in  the  war  against 
the  chaos  which  the  winter  had  wrought; 
in  the  fight  of  the  stockmen  to  wrest 
back  their  fortunes  from  the  wilderness, 
and  to  hold  once  more  their  sway  over 
the  range-land. 

Their  method  called  for  concerted 
action,  although  it  was  simple  enough. 
Two  of  the  Lazy  Eight  wagons,  under 
Park  and  Gene  Wasson  (for  Hank  that 
spring  was  running  four  crews  and  had 
promoted  Gene  wagon-boss  of  one), 


the  Dim  Trails 


179 


joined  forces  with  the  Circle-Bar,  the 
Flying  U,  and  a  Yellowstone  outfit 
whose  wagon-boss,  knowing  best  the 
range,  was  captain  of  the  five  crews; 
and  drove  north,  gathering  and  holding 
all  stock  which  properly  ranged  beyond 
the  Missouri. 

That  meant  day  after  day  of  "  riding 
circle" — which  is,  being  interpreted, 
riding  out  ten  or  twelve  miles  from  camp, 
then  turning  and  driving  everything  be 
fore  them  to  a  point  near  the  centre  of 
the  circle  thus  formed.  When  they  met 
the  cattle  were  bunched,  and  all  stock 
which  belonged  on  that  range  was  cut 


180  The  Lure  of 

out,  leaving  only  those  which  had  crossed 
the  river  during  the  storms  of  winter. 
These  were  driven  on  to  the  next  camp 
ing  place  and  held,  which  meant  constant 
day-herding  and  night-guarding — work 
which  cowboys  hate  more  than  anything 
else. 

There  would  be  no  calf  roundup 
proper  that  spring,  for  all  calves  were 
branded  as  they  were  gathered.  Many 
there  were  among  the  she-stock  that 
would  not  cross  the  river  again;  their 
carcasses  made  unsightly  blots  in  the 
.coulee-bottoms  and  on  the  wind-swept 
levels.  Of  the  calves  that  had  followed 
their  mothers  on  the  long  trail,  hundreds 
had  dropped  out  of  the  march  and  been 
left  behind  for  the  wolves.  But  not 
all.  Range-bred  cattle  are  blessed  with 
rugged  constitutions  and  can  bear  much 
of  cold  and  hunger.  The  cow  that  can 
turn  tail  to  a  biting  wind  the  while  she 


the  Dim  Trails  181 

ploughs  to  the  eyes  in  snow  and  roots 
out  a  very  satisfactory  living  for  her 
self  breeds  calves  that  will  in  time  do 
likewise  and  grow  fat  and  strong  in  the 
doing.  He  is  a  sturdy,  self-reliant  little 
rascal — is  the  range-bred  calf. 

When  fifteen  hundred  head  of  mixed 
stock,  bearing  Northern  brands,  were  in 
the  hands  of  the  day-herders,  Park  and 
his  crew  were  detailed  to  take  them  on 
and  turn  them  loose  upon  their  own  range 
north  of  Milk  River.  Thurston  felt  that 
he  had  gleaned  about  all  the  experience 
he  needed,  and  more  than  enough  hard 
riding  and  short  sleeping  and  hurried 
eating.  He  announced  that  he  was  ready 
to  bid  good-by  to  the  range.  He  would 
help  take  the  herd  home,  he  told  Park, 
and  then  he  intended  to  hit  the  trail  for 
little,  old  New  York. 

He  still  agreed  with  the  meadow  larks 
that  the  world  was  good,  but  he  had  made 


182 


The  Lure  of 


himself  believe  that  he  really  thought  the 
civilized  portion  of  it  was  better — espe 
cially  when  the  uncivilized  part  holds  a 
girl  who  persists  in  saying  no  when  she 
should  undoubtedly  say  yes,  and  insists 
that  a  man  must  be  a  hero,  else  she  will 
have  none  of  him. 


the  Dim  Trails  183 


CHAPTER   XII 

HIGH  WATER 

T  was  nearing  the  middle  of 
June,  and  it  was  getting  to 
be  a  very  hot  June  at  that. 
For  two  days  the  trail-herd 
had  toiled  wearily  over  the  hills  and  across 
the  coulees  between  the  Missouri  and 
Milk  River.  Then  the  sky  threatened  for 
a  day,  and  after  that  they  plodded  in  the 
rain. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  that's  done  with," 
sighed  Park  when  he  saw  the  last  of  the 
herd  climb,  all  dripping,  up  the  north 
bank  of  the  Milk  River.  "  To-morrow 
we  can  turn  'em  loose.  And  I  tell  yuh, 


184  The  Lure  of 

Bud,  we  didn't  get  across  none  too  soon. 
Yuh  notice  how  the  river's  coming  up? 
A  day  later  and  we'd  have  had  to  holc^ 
the  herd  on  the  other  side — no  telling  how 
long." 

"It  is  higher  than  usual;  I  noticed 
that,"  Thurston  agreed  absently.  He 
was  thinking  more  of  Mona  just  then 
than  of  the  river.  He  wondered  if  she 
would  be  at  home.  He  could  easily  ride 
down  there  and  find  out.  It  wasn't  far; 
not  a  quarter  of  a  mile — but  he  assured 
himself  that  he  wasn't  going,  and  that 
he  was  not  quite  a  fool,  he  hoped.  Even 
if  she  were  at  home,  what  good  could 
that  possibly  do  him?  Just  give  him 
several  bad  nights,  when  he  would  lie  in 
his  corner  of  the  tent  and  listen  to  the 
boys  snoring  with  a  different  key  for 
every  man.  Such  nights  were  not  pleas 
ant,  nor  were  the  thoughts  that  caused 
them. 


the  Dim  Trails  185 

From  where  they  were  camped  upon  a 
ridge  which  bounded  a  broad  coulee  on 
the  east,  he  could  look  down  upon  the 
Stevens  ranch  nestling  in  the  bottom 
land,  the  house  half  hidden  among  the 
cottonwoods.  Through  the  last  hours  of 
the  afternoon  he  watched  it  hungrily. 
The  big  corral  ran  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  he  noted  idly  that  three  panels 
of  the  fence  extended  out  into  the  river, 
and  that  the  muddy  water  was  creeping 
steadily  up  until  at  sundown  the  posts 
of  the  first  panel  barely  showed  above  the 
water. 

Park  came  up  to  him  and  looked  down 
upon  the  little  valley.  "  I  never  did  see 
any  sense  in  Jack  Stevens  building  where 
he  did,"  he  remarked.  "  There  ain't  a 
June  flood  that  don't  put  his  corral  under 
water,  and  some  uh  these  days  it's  going 
to  get  the  house.  He  was  too  lazy  to  dig 
a  well  back  on  high  ground;  he'd  rather 


186  The  Lure  of 

take  chances  on  having  the  whole  business 
washed  off  the  face  uh  the  earth." 

"  There  must  be  danger  of  it  this  year 
if  ever,"  Thurston  observed  uneasily. 
"  The  river  is  coming  up  pretty  fast,  it 
seems  to  me.  It  must  have  raised  three 
feet  since  we  crossed  this  afternoon." 

"Uh  course  there's  danger,  with  all 
that  snow  coming  out  uh  the  mountains. 
And  like  as  not  Jack's  in  Shellanne  roost 
ing  on  somebody's  pool  table  and  telling 
it  scarey,  instead  uh  staying  at  home  look 
ing  after  his  stuff.  Where  yuh  going^ 
Bud?" 

"  I'm  going  to  ride  down  there," 
Thurston  answered  constrainedly.  *  The 
women  may  be  all  alone." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  along,  if  you'll  hold  on 
a  minute.  Jack  ain't  got  a  lick  uh  sense 
— I  don't  care  if  he  is  Mona's  brother." 

"Half  brother,"  corrected  Thurston, 
as  he  swung  up  into  the  saddle.  He  had 


tlic  Dim  Traih  187 

a  poor  opinion  of  Jack  and  resented  even 
that  slight  relation  to  Mona. 

The  road  was  soggy  with  the  rain 
which  fell  steadily;  down  in  the  bottom, 
the  low  places  in  the  road  were  already 
under  water,  and  the  river,  widening  al 
most  perceptibly  in  its  headlong  rush 
down  the  narrow  valley,  crept  inch  by 
inch  up  its  low  banks.  When  they  gal 
loped  into  the  yard  which  sloped  from  the 
house  gently  down  to  the  river  fifty  yards 
away,  Mona's  face  appeared  for  a  mo 
ment  in  the  window.  Evidently  she  had 
been  watching  Tor  some  one,  and  Thnrs- 
t on\s  heart  flopped  in  his  chest  as  he  won 
dered,  fleetingly,  if  it  could  be  himself. 
When  she  opened  the  door  her  eyes 
greeted  him  with  a  certain  wistful  ex 
pression  that  he  had  never  seen  in  them 
before.  He  was  guilty  of  wishing  that 
Park  had  stayed  in  camp. 

"  Oh,   I'm  glad  you  rode  over/'  she 


188  The  Lure  of 

welcomed — but  she  was  careful,  after 
that  first  swift  glance,  to  look  at  Park. 
"  Jack  wasn't  at  camp,  was  he?  He  went 
to  town  this  morning,  and  I  looked  for 
him  back  long  before  now.  But  it's  a 
mistake  ever  to  look  for  Jack  until  he's 
actually  in  sight." 

Park  smiled  vaguely.  He  was  afraid 
it  would  not  be  polite  to  agree  with  her 
as  emphatically  as  he  would  like  to  have 
done.  But  Thurston  had  no  smile  ready, 
polite  or  otherwise.  Instead  he  drew 
down  his  brows  in  a  way  not  compli 
mentary  to  Jack. 

"  Where  is  your  mother? "  he  asked, 
almost  peremptorily. 

"  Mamma  went  to  Great  Falls  last 
week,"  she  told  him  primly,  just  grazing 
him  with  one  of  her  impersonal  glances 
which  nearly  drove  him  to  desperation. 
"  Aunt  Mary  has  typhoid  fever — there 
seems  to  be  so  much  of  that  this  spring 


the  Dim  Trails  189 

— and  they  sent  for  mamma.  She's  such 
a  splendid  nurse,  you  know." 

Thurston  did  know,  but  he  passed  over 
the  subject.  "And  you're  alone?"  he 
demanded. 

"  Certainly  not;  aren't  you  two  here? " 
Mona  could  be  very  pert  when  she  tried. 
"  Jack  and  I  are  holding  down  the  ranch 
just  now;  the  boys  are  all  on  roundup,  of 
course.  Jack  went  to  town  to-day — to 


see  some  one." 


"  Um-m — yes,  of  course."  It  was 
Park,  still  trying  to  be  polite  and  not 
commit  himself  on  the  subject  of  Jack. 
The  "  some  one  "  whom  Jack  went  often- 
est  to  see  was  the  bartender  in  the  Palace 
saloon,  but  it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  her 
that. 

'  The  river's  coming  up  pretty  fast, 
Mona,"  he  ventured.  "  Don't  yuh  think 
yuh  ought  to  pull  out  and  go  visiting? " 

"  No,  I  don't."    Mona's  tone  was  very 


190  The  Lure  of 

decided.  "  I  wouldn't  drop  down  on  a 
neighbor  without  warning  just  because 
the  river  happens  to  be  coming  up.  It 
has  '  come  up '  every  June  since  we've 
been  living  here — and  there  have  been 
several  of  them.  At  the  worst  it  never 
came  inside  the  gate." 

"You  can  never  tell  what  it  might 
do,"  Park  argued.  "  Yuh  know  yourself 
there's  never  been  so  much  snow  in  the 
mountains.  This  hot  weather  we've  been 
having  lately,  and  then  the  rain,  will 
bring  it  a-whooping.  Can't  yuh  ride  over 
to  the  Jonses?  One  of  us'll  go  with  yuh." 

"  No,  I  can't."  Mona's  chin  went  up 
perversely.  "  I'm  no  coward,  I  hope, 
even  if  there  was  any  danger — which 
there  isn't." 

Thurston's  chin  went  up  also,  and  he 
sat  a  bit  straighter.  Whether  she  meant 
it  or  not,  he  took  her  words  as  a  covert 
stab  at  himself.  Probably  she  did  not 


the  Dim  Trail*  191 

mean  it;  at  any  rate  the  blood  flew  con 
sciously  to  her  cheeks  after  she  had  spoken, 
and  she  caught  her  under  lip  sharply  be 
tween  her  teeth.  And  that  did  not  help 
matters  or  make  her  temper  more  yielding. 

"  Anyway,"  she  added  hurriedly, 
"Jack  will  be  here;  he's  likely  to  come 
any  minute  now." 

"Uh  course,  if  Jack's  got  some  new 
kind  of  half -hitch  he  can  put  on  the  river 
and  hold  it  back  yuh'll  be  all  right," 
fleered  Park,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old 
friend.  He  had  known  Mona  when  she 
wore  dresses  to  her  shoe-tops  and  her  hair 
in  long,  brown  curls  down  her  back. 

She  wrinkled  her  nose  at  him — also 
with  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend — and 
Thurston  stirred  restlessly  in  his  chair. 
He  did  not  like  even  Park  to  be  too  fa 
miliar  with  Mona,  though  he  knew  there 
was  a  girl  in  Shellanne  whose  name  Park 
sometimes  spoke  in  his  sleep. 


192  The  Lure  of 

She  lifted  the  big  glass  lamp  down 
from  its  place  on  the  clock-shelf  and 
lighted  it  with  fingers  not  quite  steady. 
"  You  men,"  she  remarked,  "  think 
women  ought  to  be  wrapped  in  pink 
cotton  and  put  in  a  glass  cabinet.  If, 
by  any  miracle,  the  river  should  come 
up  around  the  house,  I  flatter  myself  I 
should  be  able  to  cope  with  the  situation. 
I'd  just  saddle  my  horse  and  ride  out  to 
high  ground! " 

"  Would  yuh?  "  Park  grinned  skeptic 
ally.  "  The  road  from  here  to  the  hill  is 
half  under  water  right  now;  the  river's 
got  over  the  bank  above,  and  is  flooding 
down  through  the  horse  pasture.  By  the 
time  the  water  got  up  here  the  river 'd  be 
as  wide  and  deep  one  side  uh  yuh  as  the 
other.  Then  where'd  yuh  be  at?  " 

"  It  won't  get  up  here,  though,"  Mona 
asserted  coolly.  "  It  never  has." 

"  No — and  the  Lazy  Eight  never  had 


the  Dim  Trails  193 

to  work  the  Yellowstone  range  on  spring 
roundup  before  either,"  Park  told  her 
meaningly. 

Whereupon  Mona  got  upon  her  ped 
estal  and  smiled  her  unpleasant  smile, 
against  which  even  Park  had  no  argu 
ment  ready. 

They  lingered  till  long  after  all  good 
cowpunchers  are  supposed  to  be  in  their 
beds — unless  they  are  standing  night- 
guard — but  Jack  failed  to  appear.  The 
rain  drummed  upon  the  roof  and  the 
river  swished  and  gurgled  against  the 
crumbling  banks,  and  grumbled  audibly 
to  itself  because  the  hills  stood  immov 
ably  in  their  places  and  set  bounds  which 
it  could  not  pass,  however  much  it  might 
rage  against  their  base. 

When  the  clock  struck  a  wheezy  nine 
Mona  glanced  at  it  significantly  and 
smothered  a  yawn  more  than  half  af 
fected.  It  was  a  hint  which  no  man  with 


194  The  Lure  of 

an  atom  of  self-respect  could  overlook. 
With  mutual  understanding  the  two  rose. 

"  I  guess  we'll  have  to  be  going,"  Park 
said  with  some  ceremony.  "  I  kept  think 
ing  maybe  Jack  would  show  up;  it  ain't 
right  to  leave  yuh  here  alone  like  this." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not;  I'm  not  the  least 
bit  afraid,"  Mona  said.  Her  tone  was  im 
personal  and  had  in  it  a  note  of  dismissal. 

So,  there  being  nothing  else  that  they 
could  do,  they  said  good-night  and  took 
themselves  off. 

"  This  is  sure  fierce,"  Park  grumbled 
when  they  struck  the  lower  ground. 
"Darn  a  man  like  Jack  Stevens!  He'll 
hang  out  there  in  town  and  bowl  up  on 
other  men's  money  till  plumb  daylight. 
It's  a  wonder  Mona  didn't  go  with  her 
mother.  But  no — it'd  be  awful  if  Jack 
had  to  cook  his  own  grub  for  a  week. 
Say,  the  water  has  come  up  a  lot,  don't 
yah  think,  Bud?  If  it  raises  much  more 


the  Dim  Trails  195 

Mona'll  sure  have  a  chance  to  '  cope  with 
the  situation.'  It'd  just  about  serve  her 
right,  too." 

Thurston  did  not  think  so,  but  he  was 
in  too  dispirited  a  mood  to  argue  the 
point.  It  had  not  been  good  for  his  peace 
of  mind  to  sit  and  watch  the  color  come 
and  go  in  Mona's  cheeks,  and  the  laughter 
spring  unheralded  into  her  dear,  big  eyes, 
and  the  light  tangle  itself  in  the  waves  of 
her  hair. 

He  guided  his  horse  carefully  through 
the  deep  places,  and  noted  uneasily  how 
much  deeper  it  was  than  when  they  had 
crossed  before.  He  cursed  the  conven 
tions  which  forbade  his  staying  and 
watching  over  the  girl  back  there  in  the 
house  which  already  stood  upon  an  island, 
cut  off  from  the  safe,  high  land  by  a  strip 
of  backwater  that  was  widening  and 
deepening  every  minute,  and,  when  it  rose 
high  enough  to  flow  into  the  river  below, 


196  The  Lure  of 

would  have  a  current  that  would  make 
a  nasty  crossing. 

On  the  first  rise  he  stopped  and  looked 
back  at  the  light  which  shone  out  from 
among  the  dripping  cotton  woods.  Even 
then  he  was  tempted  to  go  back  and  brave 
her  anger  that  he  might  feel  assured  of 
her  safety. 

"  Oh,  come  on,"  Park  cried  impa 
tiently.  "  We  can't  do  any  good  sitting 
out  here  in  the  rain.  I  don't  suppose  the 
water  will  get  clear  up  to  the  house;  it'll 
likely  do  things  to  the  sheds  and  corrals, 
though — and  serve  Jack  right.  Come 
on,  Bud.  Mona  won't  have  us  around, 
so  the  sooner  we  get  under  cover  the 
better  for  us.  She's  got  lots  uh  nerve;  I 
guess  she'll  make  out  all  right." 

There  was  common  sense  in  the  argu 
ment,  and  Thurston  recognized  it  and 
rode  on  to  camp.  But  instead  of  un 
saddling,  as  he  would  naturally  have 


the  Dim  Trails  197 

done,  he  tied  Sunfish  to  the  bed-wagon 
and  threw  his  slicker  over  his  back  to  pro 
tect  him  from  the  rain.  And  though 
Park  said  nothing,  he  followed  Thurs- 
ton's  example. 


198  The  Lure  of 


CHAPTER   XIII 


"I'LL  STAY — ALWAYS 


[OR  a  long  time  Thurston  lay 
with  wide-open  eyes  staring 
up  at  nothing,  listening  to 
the  rain  and  thinking.  By 
and  by  the  rain  ceased  and  he  could  tell 
by  the  dim  whiteness  of  the  tent  roof  that 
the  clouds  must  have  been  swept  away 
from  before  the  moon,  then  just  past  the 
full. 

He  got  up  carefully  so  as  not  to  dis 
turb  the  others,  and  crept  over  two  or 
three  sleeping  forms  on  his  way  to  the 
opening,  untied  the  flap  and  went  out. 
The  whole  hilltop  and  the  valley  below 
were  bathed  in  mellow  radiance.  He 


the  Dim  Trails  199 

studied  critically  the  wide  sweep  of  the 
river.  He  might  almost  have  thought  it 
the  Missouri  itself,  it  stretched  so  far 
from  bank  to  bank;  indeed,  it  seemed  to 
know  no  banks  but  the  hills  themselves. 
He  turned  toward  where  the  light  had 
shone  among  the  cottonwoods  below; 
there  was  nothing  but  a  great  blot  of 
shade  that  told  him  nothing. 

A  step  sounded  just  behind.  A  hand 
— the  hand  of  Park — rested  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  Looks  kinda  dubious,  don't 
it,  kid?  Was  yuh  thinking  about  riding 
down  there?" 

'  Yes,"    Thurston    answered    simply. 
"  Are  you  coming?  " 

"  Sure,"  Park  assented. 

They  got  upon  their  horses  and  headed 
down  the  trail  to  the  Stevens  place. 
Thurston  would  have  put  Sunfish  to  a 
run,  but  Park  checked  him. 

"Go    easy,"    he    admonished.      "If 


200  The  Lure  of 

there's  swimming  to  be  done — and  it's 
a  cinch  there  will  be — he's  going  to  need 
all  the  wind  he's  got." 

Down  the  hill  they  stopped  at  the  edge 
of  a  raging  torrent  and  strained  their 
eyes  to  see  what  lay  on  the  other  side. 
While  they  looked,  a  light  twinkled  out 
from  among  the  tree-tops.  Thurston 
caught  his  breath  sharply. 

"  She's  upstairs,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
sounded  strained  and  unnatural.  "  It's 
just  a  loft  where  they  store  stuff."  He 
started  to  ride  into  the  flood. 

"Come  on  back  here,  yuh  chump!" 
Park  roared.  "  Get  off  and  loosen  the 
cinch  before  yuh  go  in  there,  or  yuh  won't 
get  far.  Sunfish  '11  need  room  to  breathe, 
once  he  gets  to  bucking  that  current. 
He's  a  good  water  horse — just  give  him 
his  head  and  don't  get  rattled  and  inter 
fere  with  him.  And  we've  got  to  go  up 
a  ways  before  we  start  in." 


the  Dim  Trails  201 

He  led  the  way  upstream,  skirting 
under  the  bluff,  and  Thurston,  chafing 
against  the  delay,  followed  obediently. 
Trees  were  racing  down,  their  clean- 
washed  roots  reaching  up  in  a  tangle  from 
the  water,  their  branches  waving  like  im 
ploring  arms.  A  black,  tar-papered  shack 
went  scudding  past,  lodged  upon  a  ridge 
where  the  water  was  shallower,  and  sat 
there  swaying  drunkenly.  Upon  it  a 
great  yellow  cat  clung  and  yowled  his 
fear. 

"That's  old  Dutch  Henry's  house," 
Park  shouted  above  the  roar.  "I'll  bet 
he's  cussing  things  blue  on  some  pin 
nacle  up  there."  He  laughed  at  the  pic 
ture  his  imagination  conjured,  and  rode 
out  into  the  swirl. 

Thurston  kept  close  behind,  mindful  of 
Park's  command  to  give  Sunfish  his  head. 
Sunfish  had  carried  him  safely  out  of  the 
stampede  and  he  had  no  fear  of  him  now. 


202  The  Lure  of 

His  chief  thought  was  a  wish  that  he 
might  do  this  thing  quite  alone.  He  was 
jealous  of  Park's  leading,  and  thought 
bitterly  that  Mona  would  thank  Park 
alone  and  pass  him  by  with  scant  praise — 
and  he  did  so  want  to  vindicate  himself. 
The  next  minute  he  was  cursing  his  damn 
able  selfishness.  A  tree  had  swept  down 
just  before  him,  caught  Park  and  his 
horse  in  its  branches  and  hurried  on  as  if 
ashamed  of  what  it  had  done.  Thurston, 
in  that  instant,  came  near  jerking  Sunfish 
around  to  follow;  but  he  checked  the  im 
pulse  as  it  was  formed  and  left  the  reins 
alone — which  was  wise.  He  could  not 
have  helped  Park,  and  he  could  very  eas 
ily  have  drowned  himself.  Though  it  was 
not  thought  of  himself  but  of  Mona  that 
stayed  his  hand. 

They  landed  at  the  gate.  Sunfish 
scrambled  with  his  feet  for  secure  foot 
ing,  found  it  and  waded  up  to  the  front 


the  Dim  Trails  203 

door.  The  water  was  a  foot  deep  on  the 
porch.  Thurston  beat  an  imperative  tat 
too  upon  the  door  with  the  butt  of  his 
quirt,  and  shouted.  And  Mona's  voice, 
shorn  of  its  customary  assurance,  an 
swered  faintly  from  the  loft. 

He  shouted  again,  giving  directions  in 
a  tone  of  authority  which  must  have 
sounded  strange  to  her,  but  which  she  did 
not  seem  to  resent  and  obeyed  without 
protest.  She  had  to  wade  from  the  stairs 
to  the  door  and  when  Thurston  stooped 
and  lifted  her  up  in  front  of  him,  she 
looked  as  if  she  were  very  glad  to  have 
him  there. 

"  You  didn't  *  cope  with  the  situation,' 
after  all,"  he  remarked  while  she  was  set 
tling  herself  firmly  in  the  saddle. 

"  I  went  to  sleep  and  didn't  notice  the 
water  till  it  was  coming  in  at  the  door," 
she  explained.  "And  then—"  She 
stopped  abruptly. 


204  The  Lure  of 

"  Then  what? "  he  demanded  mali 
ciously.  "Were  you  afraid?" 

"  A — a  little,"  she  confessed  reluc 
tantly. 

Thurston  gloated  over  it  in  silence — 
until  he  remembered  Park.  After  that 
he  could  think  of  little  else.  As  before, 
so  now  Sunfish  battled  as  seemed  to  him 
best,  for  Thurston,  astride  behind  the 
saddle,  held  Mona  somewhat  tighter  than 
he  need  to  have  done,  and  let  the  horse  go. 

So  long  as  Sunfish  had  footing  he 
braced  himself  against  the  mad  rush  of 
waters  and  forged  ahead.  But  out  where 
the  current  ran  swimming  deep  he  floun 
dered  desperately  under  his  double  bur 
den.  While  his  strength  lasted  he  kept 
his  head  above  water,  struggling  gamely 
against  the  flood  that  lapped  over  his  back 
and  bubbled  in  his  nostrils.  Thurston  felt 
his  laboring  and  clutched  Mona  still 
tighter.  Of  a  sudden  the  horse's  head 


Thurston  held  Mona  somewhat  tighter  than  he   need 
to  have  done. 


Page  204 


the  Dim  Trails  205 

went  under;  the  black  water  came  up 
around  Thurston's  throat  with  a  hungry 
swish,  and  Sunfish  went  out  from  under 
him  like  an  eel. 

There  was  a  confused  roaring  in  his 
ears,  a  horrid  sense  of  suffocation  for  a 
moment.  But  he  had  learned  to  swim 
when  he  was  a  boy  at  school,  and  he  freed 
one  hand  from  its  grip  on  Mona  and  set 
to  paddling  with  much  vigor  and  consid 
erably  less  skill.  And  though  the  under 
current  clutched  him  and  the  weight  of 
Mona  taxed  his  strength,  he  managed  to 
keep  them  both  afloat  and  to  make  a  little 
headway  until  the  deepest  part  lay  behind 
them. 

How  thankful  he  was  when  his  feet 
touched  bottom,  no  one  but  himself  ever 
knew!  His  ears  hummed  from  the  water 
in  them,  and  the  roar  of  the  river  was 
to  him  as  the  roar  of  the  sea;  his  eyes 
smarted  from  the  clammy  touch  of  the 


206  The  Lure  of 

dingy  froth  that  went  hurrying  by  in 
monster  flakes;  his  lungs  ached  and  his 
heart  pounded  heavily  against  his  ribs 
when  he  stopped,  gasping,  beyond  reach 
of  the  water-devils  that  lapped  viciously 
behind. 

He  stood  a  minute  with  his  arm  still 
around  her,  and  coughed  his  voice  clear. 
"  Park  went  down — "  he  began,  hardly 
knowing  what  it  was  he  was  saying. 
"  Park—"  He  stopped,  then  shouted  the 
name  aloud.  "Park!  Oh-h,  Park!" 

And  from  somewhere  down  the  river 
came  a  faint  reassuring  whoop. 

"  Thank  the  Lord!  "  gasped  Thurston, 
and  leaned  against  her  for  a  second.  Then 
he  straightened.  "Are  you  all  right?" 
he  asked,  and  drew  her  toward  a  rock  near 
at  hand — for  in  truth,  the  knees  of  him 
were  shaking.  They  sat  down,  and  he 
looked  more  closely  at  her  face  and  dis 
covered  that  it  was  wet  with  something 


the  Dim  Trails  207 

more  than  river  water.  Mona  the  self- 
assured,  Mona  the  strong-hearted,  was 
crying.  And  instinctively  he  knew  that 
not  the  chill  alone  made  her  shiver.  He 
was  keeping  his  arm  around  her  waist  de 
liberately,  and  it  pleased  him  that  she  let 
it  stay.  After  a  minute  she  did  some 
thing  which  surprised  him  mightily — and 
pleased  him  more:  She  dropped  her  face 
down  against  the  soaked  lapels  of  his  coat, 
and  left  it  there.  He  laid  a  hand  tenderly 
against  her  cheek  and  wondered  if  he 
dared  feel  so  happy. 

"Little  girl— oh,  little  girl,"  he  said 
softly,  and  stopped.  For  the  crowding 
emotions  in  his  heart  and  brain  the  Eng 
lish  language  has  no  words. 

Mona  lifted  her  face  and  looked  into 
his  eyes.  Her  own  were  soft  and  shining 
in  the  moonlight,  and  she  was  smiling  a 
little — the  roguish  little  smile  of  the  imi 
tation  pastel  portrait.  "  You — you'll  an- 


208  The  Lure  of 

pack  your  typewriter,  won't  you  please, 
and — and  stay?" 

Thurston  crushed  her  close.  "  Stay? 
The  range-land  will  never  get  rid  of  me 
now,"  he  cried  jubilantly.  "Hank  wanted 
to  take  me  into  the  Lazy  Eight,  so  now 
I'll  buy  an  interest,  and  stay — always" 

"You — dear!"  Mona  snuggled  close 
and  learned  how  it  feels  to  be  kissed,  if 
she  had  never  known  before. 

Sunfish,  having  scrambled  ashore  a  few 
yards  farther  down,  came  up  to  them 
and  stood  waiting,  as  if  to  be  forgiven 
for  his  failure  to  carry  them  safe  to 
land.  But  Thurston,  after  the  first  in 
attentive  glance,  ungratefully  took  no 
heed  of  him. 

There  was  a  sound  of  scrambling  foot 
steps  and  Park  came  dripping  up  to  them. 
"Well,  say!"  he  greeted.  "Ain't  yuh 
got  anything  to  do  but  set  here  and — er — 
look  at  the  moon?  Break  away  and  come 


the  Dim  Trails  209 

up  to  camp.  I'll  rout  out  the  cook  and 
make  him  boil  us  some  coffee." 

Thurston  turned  joyfully  toward  him. 
"  Park,  old  fellow,  I  was  afraid " 

'  Yuh  better  reform  and  quit  being 
afraid,"  Park  bantered.  "  I  got  out  uh 
the  mix-up  fine,  but  I  guess  my  horse 
went  on  down — poor  devil.  I  was  poking 
around  below  there  looking  for  him. 

"  Well,  Mona,  I  see  yuh  was  able  to 
'  cope  with  the  situation,'  all  right — but 
yuh  needed  Bud  mighty  bad,  I  reckon. 
The  chances  is  yuh  won't  have  no  house 
in  the  morning,  so  Bud'll  have  to  get 
busy  and  rustle  one  for  yuh.  I  guess 
you'll  own  up,  now,  that  the  water  can 
get  through  the  gate."  He  laughed  in 
his  teasing  way. 

Mona  stood  up,  and  her  shining  eyes 
were  turned  to  Thurston.  "  I  don't  care," 
she  asserted  with  reddened  cheeks.  "  I'm 
just  glad  it  did  get  through." 


210     The  Lure  of  the  Dim  Trails 

"  Same  here,"  said  Thurston  with  much 
emphasis. 

Then,  with  Mona  once  more  in  the  sad 
dle,  and  with  Thurston  leading  Sunfish 
by  the  bridle-rein,  they  trailed  damply  and 
happily  up  the  long  ridge  to  where  the 
white  tents  of  the  roundup  gleamed 
sharply  against  the  sky-line. 


THE  END 


Who*  the  Critic*  say  of 

Chip  of  the   Flying  U* 


By  B.  ML  BOWER. 


'     Chip   is  all  right.     Better  than  J  The  Virginian."* 

—Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  name  of  B.  M.  Bower  will  stand  for  something  readable  in 
the  estimation  of  every  man,  and  most  every  woman,  who  reads  this  fine 
new  story  of  Montana  ranch  and^its  dwellers." — Publisher  &  Retailer, 

'  Its  qualities  and  merit  can  be  summed  up  in  the  brief  but  suffi 
cient  statement  that  it  is  thoroughly  delightful." 

— Albany  Times- Union. 

"For  strength  of  interest,  vivid  description,  clever  and  convincing 
character,  drawing  and  literary  merit  it  is  the  surprise  of  the  year." 

—  Walden's  Stationer  and  Printer. 

'  It  is  an  appealing  story  told  in  an  active  style  which  fairlv 
sparges  in  reproducing  the  atmosphere  of  the  wild  and  woolly  West.  It 
is  consistently  forceful  and  contains  a  quantity  of  refreshing  comedy." 

—Philadelphia  Press. 
"  Bound  to  stand  among  the  famous  novels  of  the  year." 

—Baltimore  American. 

"  'The  Virginian'  has  found  many  imitators,  but  few  authors  have 
come  as  near  duplicating  Owen  Wister's  magnetic  hero  as  has  B.  M. 
Bower,  Chip  of  the  Flying  U.'  "—Philadelphia  Item. 

'  B.  M.  Bower  has  portrayed  but  few  characters,  but  these  he  has 
pictured  with  the  strong  and  yet  delicate  stroke  of  a  true  master.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  West  is  perfect ;  one  sees  and  feels  the  vibrant,  vital 
life  of  the  ranch  activities  all  through  the  telling  of  the  story." 

— Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

1  It  brims  over  with  humor  showing  the  bright  and  laughing  side  of 
ranch  life.  It  is  a  story  which  will  delightfully  entertain  the  reader." 

—^Portland  Journal. 

"  Tbe  story  contains  strength  of  interest,  vivid  descriptions,  clever 
and  convincing  character  drawing  and  literary  merits,  and  the  author  lays 
»n  the  colors  with  a  master's  touch."— Albany  Evening  fournal. 

thm,  Oath  Bound,  Cot»  mustratfons,  $13$ 
G.  W.  DOJUDNGHAM  CO,  Publishers.  NEW  YORK 


What  the  Critics  say  of 

The  Range  Dwellers. 


By  B.  M.  BOWER. 


"  A  clever  and  humorous  story,  delightfully  clean  and  wholesome, 
and  possessing  enough  of  the  dramatic  and  dangerous  element  to  keep 
the  imagination  excited  to  the  end." — The  Nashville  American. 

44  A  bright,  jolly,  entertaining  yarn  without  a  dull  page." 

—  The  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

44  One  of  the  most  charming  and  appealing  of  all  Western  novels. 
There  is  action  and  vivacity  at  all  times,  and  the  reader's  interest  never 
sways  for  an  instant.  The  story  is  admirably  written  and  runs  along 
smoothly  at  all  times." — Philadelphia  Press. 

44  Here  are  every  day,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist, 
spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Romeo  and 
Juliet  courtship  in  the  Far  West  which  make  easy  reading.  Mr.  Bower 
knows  his  wild  west  intimately  and  writes  of  it  entertainingly." 

— Des  Moines  Register  and  Leader. 

41  Told  with  a  good  deal  of  humor  and  a  lot  of  unusual  spirit.  A 
very  clever  book — one  that  has  more  atmosphere  than  usual,  and  which 
can  be  picked  up  at  any  time  to  fill  a  long  felt  want  for  excitement." 

— Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

44  A  tale  to  set  the  blood  tingling.  It  is  a  story  of  the  West,  with 
the  scene  laid  on  a  Montana  cattle  ranch.  A  story  well  told  and  a  story 
worth  reading." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

"Mr.  Bower  has  portrayed  but  few  characters,  but  these  he  has 
pictured  with  the  strong  and  yet  delicate  stroke  of  a  true  master.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  West  is  perfect;  one  sees  and  feels  the  vibrant  vital 
life  of  the  ranch  activities  all  through  the  telling  of  the  story." 

—Pittsburg  Dispatch. 

44  Has  many  stirring  situations  and  exciting  incidents  illustrative  of 
existence  in  the  open." — Boston  Budget- Beacon. 

44  The  book  is  vigorous,  with  the  bracing  open  air  of  the  Far  West." 

— Rochester  Herald. 

I2mo,  Cloth  Bound 
Beautiful  Color  Illustrations  by  Charles  M.  Russell,  $135 

G«  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO,,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


THIS   BOOK   IS   DUE  ON   THE   LAST   DATE 
STAMPED   BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,   UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA,   DAVIS 

Book  Slip-55m-lO,'(58  ( J404Ss8 ) 458 — A-o  1    j 


N9  623297 

PS3537 
Sinclair,  B.M.  149 

The  lure  of  the  dim      L8 
trails. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


